


The Dark Tower

by Arachneedle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Drama & Romance, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Evil Morgana (Merlin), F/F, Long, Lust, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Psychological Drama, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Seduction to the Dark Side, Slow Romance, Sweet, Unrequited Lust, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2020-10-04 15:50:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20473586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arachneedle/pseuds/Arachneedle
Summary: Gwen is captured by Morgana when out riding with the knights. Over the course of the next few months, she learns things about herself and her captor that change her, slowly but surely. Everything is canon, except instead of Gwen being with Morgana for three months they're together for a year, a year which changes them both forever...but can they change their fates? Can they change the future, and escape from the tyranny of Arthur and the shadow of Emrys? (TW: psychological torture)





	1. An Unexpected Encounter

She swayed in her saddle, her eyes half-closed, and tipped back her head, feeling the way that her long dark curls caressed and tickled her bare shoulders. Her brother’s nostrils flared as he laughed, glancing across to where she rode, drifting along in a trance-like state, listening to the crunch of their horses’ hooves in the dead leaves, the rustle of the soughing breeze in the branches, the guffawing laughter of Gwaine and Percival and Leon who trailed behind them. Gwen, Guinevere, Queen of Camelot, wife of Arthur Pendragon, was happy - and more than that, she was relaxed. Of course, she was happy normally, in her way; the happiness was often undercut by fear for Arthur, anxiety about their kingdom and the constant threats against them, exhaustion from all the endless work that her role required of her, stress and stiffness from maintaining the endless facade of good queen, good wife, good leader, innocuous and friendly and innocent and kindly and endlessly forgiving, no matter what her husband did, no matter how he sinned or hurt her or tossed his life back and forth recklessly like a gambler, playing with mortality with all the complacency of a king...Gwen chuckled to herself, massaged her temples. Strangely enough, in this moment, riding through the woods, so far away from all that - in this moment, she felt not a trace of frustration, though she sensed that she was frustrated, that she had buried her frustration over and over again and this moment would not last. In truth, that was why she had organised this trip - she was burning to escape, to run away from it all. _Where would I go?_ she thought with sudden bitterness, and the lonely helplessness of her situation washed over her, a restless itch inside her reasserting itself as she clenched her fists, an irrepressible desire to run away.

She shook her head irritably, and her horse, sensing her mood, shied. Elyan called out, ‘Woah!’ and reached for the reins of her animal, pulling it safely in towards him, keeping her out of harm’s way. Sometimes Gwen wished her brother had never become a knight; sometimes she felt she had liked him better as a wandering outlaw. _Why now?_ she thought, tossing her mane of brown coils. _Why do I feel so impatient now?_ True, these thoughts and fears were always there, but...she never normally dwelt on them, acknowledged them. The way they weighed and encroached upon her now, clawing at her shoulders and elbows and thighs so that she swatted these invisible monsters and rode faster, kicking her horse into a trot; this was new, unprecedented. Never had Guinevere truly, in the plain light of day, considered her own inner anguish - she had only ever dared to think this way in the black watches of the night, when her husband was away wandering the castle with...Merlin. Or perhaps “wandering” was too euphemistic a word for it.

Her lip curled when she thought of that. Merlin, the insolent servant, the naive pretty-boy, the most loved in all the kingdom...That was not quite true, of course. But sometimes it felt that way - the way Gaius protected the boy, the way the knights indulged and pampered him, the way Arthur reserved everything for him, confiding in and relying on and even loving Merlin far more than he had ever loved Gwen. Oh, of course he loved her too; but it was a very, very different sort of love, and if he hadn’t realised that before their marriage then Arthur must have noticed it by now._ I am fondly petted and kept in a cage like a sweet-singing bird_, she thought, and clenched her fists._ I am indulged, too, but never listened to, never truly respected - he makes a show of listening to me, then goes against all my judgements_. The truth was, Arthur could never respect men and women equally, and it was this, among other things, that stood in the way of their love. Gwen thought back to all the men in her life - her father, noble and honest as he had been; her brother, brave enough to be reckless, humble to the point of deprecation, attentive and caring; Merlin, her old sweetheart, the mercurial boy who saw and understood far more than he would ever let on. And there were others, too - she dared to think of him now where she would never have before, almost speaking his name aloud - Lancelot. Lancelot, the bravest, most beautiful, thoughtful, kind, gentle, funny man she had ever met; Lancelot, so superior in intelligence and beauty to Arthur that it was almost absurd, the thought that she had turned him down. She couldn’t remember why she had done it now; she had just always felt that Arthur was somehow, oh, somehow the safer option, representing a life of comfort and security and kindness, and how could she turn all that down? How could she, after all she had been through, after everything she and her family had suffered? _Without my marriage to Arthur_, she thought, _Elyan could never have been on equal standing with the other knights. Without my marriage to Arthur, Lancelot would not have been allowed back into the kingdom_ \- for Arthur’s jealousy was not to be dismissed lightly, and at the time of the affair, his wounded pride had pushed him further than love ever could have. _Without my marriage to Arthur, I would not be safe._

But that was it, that was just it. Safety; everything a girl could desire. She had it all, the crown, the jewels, a handsome husband, a kingdom at her feet - _I would have had to have been insane to have turned all of this down_, she reasoned. Even so, she felt irritated, nettled by the thought of the life she had built for herself. For though her life was perfect, it did not feel like hers - the life of a woman who, banished from Camelot, became a prized harlot in the harem of her ex-lover’s mortal enemy, and used her position to uncover a great conspiracy and save all Camelot; a woman who, though her father was murdered by the regime that governed that very realm, remained loyal, and loved her people dearly despite all their failings; a woman who, through all the years she served as a lady-in-waiting to the last High Priestess in existence, nonetheless served loyally despite her suspicions, and even did something to prevent the inevitable realisation of Morgana’s power, despite her lowly position. She had comforted Morgana in the black watches of the night as no-one else could - she had loved her like a sister, a daughter, she had kissed her cheek and smoothed back her hair and sponged her forehead and breathed in the light scent of her skin, sleeping in her bed to protect her from monsters, dressing her up beautifully and harmlessly to protect her from the scheming and lechery of the menfolk of the court, cleaning her wounds after her cruel treatment at the hands of Uther Pendragon. Gwen would never forget that haunted, wild look in Morgana’s eyes after her night in the dungeons, the quivering body of a frightened doe, the wild, distant eyes and thunderous brows and stormcloud hair, the woman she would become hovering over the image of the one she was then. And of course Gwen could never support such brutality as Morgana now practised, especially since Morgana seemed to be after her as much as she was after Arthur, but nonetheless there was an integrity and strength and intelligence to the woman that Gwen had always admired, a queenly bearing and desire to learn that spoke well of her. _Morgana was always the true heir to the throne_, Gwen thought involuntarily, and frowned.

‘Your Highness? Your Highness?’ She started, realising that Leon was calling her. Turning around, she smiled at him, but there was a wild artlessness in her dark eyes and an absentminded compression to her lips that intimated her troubled mind.  
She drew in a deep breath, and looked inquiringly at her sworn knight and servant.

‘What is it, Sir Leon?’ she said prettily, and flashed him a glimpse of those white teeth of hers. Oh, she was good, no doubt about that - she knew how to do everything prettily, harmlessly, and that was how everyone saw her, even the discerning Merlin. Maybe_ that is all that I am: pretty, harmless_, she thought bitterly, and persed her lips. Leon, it seemed, was as taken in as ever, for he grinned at her, his toy-boy blonde curls falling into his eyes.

‘Where do you wish to stop for lunch, Your Highness? Gwaine was thinking it was about time for the picnic,’ he added, his blue eyes bright. Gwen swallowed her venom, chuckled obligingly at Leon’s joke, and glanced around.

‘Well, that patch of grass over there looks nice enough,’ she said slowly, sighing a little. Of course the only decisions they ever trusted her with were ones like that - where to stop for lunch, what to have for dinner, what clothes to wear to the banquet. Even with that, Arthur did not trust her; Merlin was the only one allowed to choose his outfits, unless the King was feeling particularly indulgent. _He is the perfect king - capricious, tyrannical, zealous,_ Gwen thought sourly. _And I am the perfect queen; sweet, detached, harmless, secretive but not openly so - modest, withdrawn, the hand of power moving daintily in the shadows_. Against her will, she approved of this vindictive self-portrait, vain though it might be. Her time in Camelot had taught her enough about her situation for her to know that she was right, though; it was almost a shame that she did not use the opportunity to plot some kind of treachery. No time for that, though, and neither the stomach nor the imagination for it, she thought sadly. If only she had a little more belief in something better, maybe she would start a rebellion.

They turned their horses as one, and rode back towards the spot she had suggested. Gwen lagged a little behind, loitering listlessly in the shade of the trees. They were all so ignorant, so dull, and she so repressed...there was no-one, no-one she could confide in. Unlike Arthur, she had no Merlin - not now that Lancelot was dead. She didn’t know the full extent of her husband’s affair with his manservant, but she could guess; Arthur was not a man to do things by halves. _No, if I know anything, Arthur will have bedded Merlin long ago._ She could have laughed aloud, except it wasn’t funny. _Oh, the torment,_ she thought wearily, and really did chuckle at that, her horse shying as she dropped the reins to stifle her giggle in her gloved hand. But then she felt a shift in her steed’s movements, and glanced down to see its eyes rolling, its forelegs stumblings back and forth as it prepared to bolt. Gwen frowned, and grabbed her reins, glancing across to where the others were to see what the source of the commotion was.

She could not see, other than that the horses of Leon and Percival had reared up, and both were lying on the ground, Gwaine beside them. Her frown deepened, and she turned to see her brother circling, unsure who to stay with. She didn’t know if it really was generosity, or flippancy, or whatever it was that made her think it, but in that moment she knew she had to dismiss him - just knew, deep in her marrow - and so she almost said it, told him to go, to leave her; but then he did the job himself, told her to go, and so she rode, rode like the wind, dug her heels into her horse and galloped away. And in that moment, the sense of freedom she felt was unimaginable, unimpeachable, untouchably sweet._ I am free, now_, she thought triumphantly._ I am free, and I am alone_.

The white face in the trees took her completely by surprise, and seemed in that moment to be a ghost, a masked apparition clothed all in black, an angel of death. Her horse reared up even as she felt her heart pound, the blood surging round her body as the adrenaline kicked in, the fear rising in her throat even though she craned her neck round to see who was there, who it was that had frightened her horse. But when she saw, she knew she needn’t have looked - some part of her had known since she had heard the commotion who it would be. _Oh God, I have brought this upon us all,_ she thought, distraught. _I have sinned, prayed and wished for this, and now that it is here I see how terrible is our fate_.

Morgana cocked her head to one side, the oily tendrils of her dark hair snaking out of her shadowed hood, her pale, bloodless skin stretched tight over her statuesque cheekbones. There was a wry, faint mirth about her pink mouth, her eyes considerate and calculatingly light like phials of captured seawater, the pink shadows beneath them simultaneously sympathetic and vengeful. Gwen took one last look at her, unable to tear her eyes away, not quite believing them - for it had been years since she had last seen Morgana - then turned back, began to gallop away, her heart thumping as she bent over the reins and begged inwardly to escape. But Morgana’s facade of kindness melted away when she saw this, her mouth twisting and her eyes hardening as she shot out a hand and twitched her fingers, one gesture enough to send Gwen flying into the air. This time the fear really took over, and though she did not have time to scream properly Gwen heard herself whimper as the breath caught uncomfortably in her throat, as her body was forcibly ripped through the air, her neck whipping back and her shoulders shaking in the split second before she plummeted to the ground, landing in a painful heap. This was the last thing she knew, for then everything went black.

Morgana shuffled through the dead leaves, the hem of her cloak and her skirts swishing around her and constricting her long strides as she inspected her handiwork. She did not waste long - Gwen was knocked out, which was good, it saved her time and cruelty which she would have had to take back later; she knelt down, and prodded at Gwen’s ribs and neck and various other delicate parts of the body, finding none of them to be damaged. So much the better - sometimes, Morgana knew, she overused her power and hurt people more than she meant to. Even now, after so much training and mentoring and practice, she still struggled occasionally to control her magic. Unable to resist, she knelt beside the body, listening to Gwen’s rattling breath as her lips curled upwards in a tender, mocking smile.  
‘Sleep, my lady, for it could be some time until you do so again.’


	2. To the Dark Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey begins. Both captor and captive are uncomfortable, struggling with memories of the past, and as Gwen tries to untangle her emotions and Morgana tries to control her, the battle of wills has just begun.

It was sunset when Morgana woke her. The ochre light played softly over Gwen’s hair and skin, bringing out the warmth in her soft cheek and the reddish tones in her dark brown hair, her face so smooth and golden that Morgana could not resist reaching out a trembling finger and tracing the curve of her profile with a delicate hand. It was a moment before the woman came to, but when she did, she sat up suddenly, and Morgana moved back, watching as Gwen looked accusingly over her shoulder. In fact, Gwen’s wide eyes and heaving chest were more from general shock - she glanced around, remembered all that had happened, dragged her eyes over the soft setting of the woods, sensed the impenetrable, boiling tangle of her own mixed feelings, realised (vainly) that she must look even more beautiful with her leaf-strewn hair flowing over her shoulder and her body quivering in distress - and then she surveyed Morgana, the glint in the sorceress’s eye, the cruel, teasing curl of her lips and then the slyness about her whole countenance. _She has a plan_, Gwen realised, her mind racing. Morgana’s green eyes winked at her as she drawled penitently, ‘Good morning, my lady.’

It was at this point that Gwen realised that her hands were bound, and, vexed, flared her nostrils as she twisted her bonds this way and that, all but snarling at the hindrance. What was the point of binding her - how dare her kidnapper do such a thing? Oh, granted, Morgana was capable of anything, but...a little more respect was at least due, or so she felt. Letting a queen sleep in the leaves and dirt, binding her hands while she sleeps, mocking her with fine words…it was a reckless way to go about things. Half-snarling, half-sobbing, she hissed, ‘What do you want with me?’ Her voice came out garbled after a long sleep without water, and she sounded more weak than she felt.

‘I thought we could play a little game,’ Morgana replied, her soft, lilting voice matchingly serpentine when crossed with her gleaming crystal eyes. But Gwen was in no mood for Morgana’s trifles; _I am a queen now, more than she_, she thought angrily, _and I deserve to be treated as such_.

‘A game?’ she spat scathingly, and Morgana dropped her cocky levity, her mood souring.

‘Find out just how much Arthur loves you,’ she ground out from between clenched teeth, a muscle twitching beneath her eye. Gwen shifted, taken aback - something about Morgana’s manner felt off. 

Bitterly, she remembered her earlier thoughts, and so it was more from hopeless truth than from self-defending artifice that she replied, ‘It won’t work.’ Morgana’s lip curled, her belief in Arthur’s besottedness complete, just like everyone else’s.

‘You underestimate his feelings,’ she rejoined, sardonic, believing herself to be calling Gwen’s own bluff, almost bored. Of course, she had not seen them together for a long time - she knew nothing of their domestic life, and perhaps if she had her bitterness would have been less and her kindness more, for she had always resented Arthur’s beloved servant queen, if only for Gwen’s mercenary marriage. But Gwen felt oddly disappointed by this oversight on Morgana’s part, as if she required her to be more knowledgeable - no, more intelligent - than the rest, as if her own belief in Morgana’s terrifying perfection and omniscience was a necessary starting point for their interactions. She supposed it had not once been that way, but it was the only way to hate this woman, not pity her - it was impossible to hate and fear something you looked down on. Her next words came with a sigh, a weariness settling over her.

‘He’s not stupid,’ she muttered, the lie as rehearsed as it was threadbare. Morgana smirked slightly, and for once, they were almost in agreement.

‘We’ll see.’ Gwen bridled, her anger rising within her again.

‘He’ll know you’ve taken me - he’ll know it’s a trap,’ she countered, willing to be bold against this woman who had so peculiarly let her down. But Morgana’s next words restored some of Gwen’s faith in her, for they were undoubtedly true.

‘He will; but he’ll still come.’ Gwen almost chuckled at the irony, that she should be in agreement with her sworn enemy, that she should empathise - no, even admire - the woman who was constantly trying to kill her. But then, it was her own fault that they were at odds; Morgana had had no quarrel with her serving girl, and it was only once she had secured Arthur’s affections that things began to turn sour. Morgana thought back, and a spasm of pain crossed her face as she remembered how Gwen had distanced herself, become a spy, an intriguer like all the other ladies-in-waiting - how Gwen had betrayed her, doubted her, separated from her, despite everything, despite all their vows and confidences and sisterly affection. Morgana had felt something very deep for Gwen, something she dreaded above all and even now when she had captured her; one could not let go lightly of such betrayals, and it was perhaps because of Morgana’s capacity to feel so deeply, her skinless hypersensitivity and morals so strong that they overcame even affection and authority, perhaps it was because of all this that she held such terrible grudges. Even now, she knew herself to be righteous, and she, like Gwen, felt betrayed by her old confidant Merlin, by his unfaltering love of Arthur even though she saw in his eyes whenever they met that he knew her cause was the right one.

Morgana breathed deeply, and rose, turning away. She would not think about the past - she did not want to. This plan was about getting back at Arthur (principally); anything else that came up was unimportant.

* * *

Morgana dragged Gwen up hill and down dale, through marsh and through forest, past quagmire and peak and even on, to the dry, dusty wastes of the Eastern deserts - but not before they had passed through the utterly barren and deathly cold places that she had decimated with her dark magic, the silent scree slopes eerie and shrouded in smoke, the frozen wastes icy so that Morgana donned her thickest cloak and quickened their pace, even providing Gwen with a cloak too. It was little comfort when coupled with the endless days of walking, stumbling along behind Morgana's horse, roped in like an animal with her bound hands in front of her, the bonds chafing at her skin so sores opened up and bled profusely, the fluid drying into a crusted, infected mess. At first, Gwen was defiant, but weariness soon claimed her and she fell silent, oppressed and exhausted, always hungry, always thirsty, always tired, her eyes sore and itching from many sleepless nights, her legs leaden from the cruel journey. Sometimes the soles of her feet bled, for her shoes had fallen to pieces after so much journeying (unsuited courtly slippers as they were) and then they slowed down, which angered Morgana. Of course, if Arthur caught up with them before they reached their destination - wherever that was - then Morgana's plan would be foiled; but Gwen thought little of rescue, even less escape. It was as if, ever since that day, her mind had shut off, and now she was led only by Morgana, by the witch's caprices, cruelties and kindnesses - for, strangely enough, Morgana could be oddly tender at times. Gwen had just enough sense left to reject such kisses and caresses, for of course Morgana was playing with her, but sometimes when she refused her mistress' attentions Morgana seemed pained, almost subdued, almost as if Gwen's acceptance mattered to her; but then again, Gwen knew that fever, exhaustion and hunger could lead one to hallucinate all kinds of things. _She has no reason to love me,_ Gwen thought, and oddly enough the thought was just as painful as her aching legs.

For her part, Morgana felt the oppression and exhaustion too. Sometimes she even turned to her companion for amusement or affection on a whim, just to alleviate the terrible unhappiness and boredom she felt - for, though she was mounted she slept and ate no better than her captive, and the riding was tough too. _I have been too long alone,_ she thought uneasily as they passed over the desert plains under the watchful eye of the hot sun. She could not help glancing back at Gwen every so often, for the woman was intent upon the ground and did not see her secret stares - and when she did so, she felt a surge of desire seize her, a frightening and mysterious desire to smooth back the matted curls from the tear-stained face, to wipe away the dirt tracks from those blushing cheeks, to soothe bent back with a washcloth administered in smooth circles…perhaps these bizarre stirrings would not have troubled her, nor even occurred to her, had she not had so many long, dreary hours to think on them. And so it was with extreme unease that both of them travelled the distance between Camelot, and the dark tower. 

Gwen tripped over her own feet, and her lips twisted savagely, her nostrils flaring. She was sick of this, sick of the endless walking, sick of the open wastes, sick from hunger and exhaustion, and above all sick of the silence. She glanced up at Morgana with rage and resentment, hatred burning in her eyes. Oh, though time wore her down and robbed her of her energy it did nothing to assuage her ire - quite the opposite. She felt sure, now, that with one night's good sleep and a decent meal and freedom of movement she could very easily leap on the shadowy figure that led her, slam her to the floor, shatter that fragile collarbone and punch in that red mouth so the dry lips would puff up, bruised and bloodied, and the clear eyes would be disfigured with tears and scratches. Gwen licked her lips, her mouth watering, as she imagined how she would beat Morgana hard enough to leave scars, hard enough to break the skin, hard enough to make her cry out and sob and plead for mor- for mercy, that is. She shook her head, trying to focus her strange, diffuse thoughts in on this one act of savagery. Oh yes, she would savage Morgana - she would pin her down, straddle her and drag her head back by those long, lustrous curls, crush her and devour her and slide her fingers into her mouth…Gwen blinked. That last part - _what has got into me?_ It was not true that she could best Morgana, though; her fantasies were in vain. If she dared lift a finger against her captor she would be thrown backwards by a blast of magic, she knew, strung up and stripped down and tortured and humiliated until she was sure of nothing in the world but Morgana, her mistress, the author of all her misfortunes. Gwen frowned, as she realised how coolly she had taken the prospect; did she really fear torment so little? _Anything, anything to wake me from the torment_, she found herself thinking, and ran over the past few years in her mind. Her whole life had been a lie, from the moment she rejected Lancelot - from the moment she married Arthur, she had lived in a waking dream, a living hell of perfect, ceaseless smiles, endless laughter, draining sweetness, insufferable comfort. She had been coddled to death, and her hopes, her dreams, her heart, all had died with her, so that she had become a husk, continuing on autopilot, moving like a mannequin, smiling mechanically and completing each task as an automaton would. In bed with Arthur, at supper with the knights, on visits to their allies - always, the walls around her heart had been so high that she had felt nothing, allowed nothing of the overwhelming, bleak despair she felt to leak out, shoring up every crack with some new mask, some new coping mechanism. _I am so alone_, she thought, and felt the tears flow down her cheeks, the hot wind blowing strands of her hair about her face.

Morgana heard a quiet sniffle behind her, and frowned, the intensity in her eyes deepening. She wanted nothing more than to stop, to dismount, to run to Gwen, to beg her on her knees for forgiveness, to ask her what was wrong and carry her away to somewhere safe, somewhere they could live happily, in peace, unthreatened by the machinations of Arthur. She even felt her own eyes sting, her face puckering the tiniest bit, and clenched tighter on the reins, a single teardrop rolling down her white cheek, her clear, hopeless eyes looking to the sky; but instead of the heavens they spied something else, an ugly black blot on the horizon, a speck around the size of her thumb that pierced the sky in a jagged column. She blinked away her tears, then, and swallowed her weakness. They were almost there; and when they arrived, it would be time to put her plan into place.

She glanced back at Gwen one last time, allowing herself a moment of indulgence before she turned away and began to yank on the rope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is not more fun or smutty. I will get there in the end. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. The Longest Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen suffers through the long nights of her imprisonment. If there was ever a chapter that required TWs, it was this one.

Gwen glanced around the room, shivering in the cool air. This time she was awake when Morgana made her next move, and it almost amused her to see the awkwardness with which Morgana went about her business, now that she was under the watchful scrutiny of her hostage. Despite all her exhaustion and the dull throbbing pain, Gwen still had enough sarcasm left in her to see the irony in the situation, and take a small satisfaction from Morgana's stiffness. _ If ever anyone needed to lighten up _ , Gwen thought, slightly delirious. Morgana untied her bonds and stepped quickly back, giving her captive a wide berth. Gwen massaged her sore wrists, and the tears came to her eyes again unbidden as she felt the searing pain of her burns, but she bit down on her lip so hard she drew blood just to keep back the weeping. Oh, she was teetering the edge - she sensed it - soon enough she would break. But she would not budge an inch too soon, would not make it easy for Morgana, if not for Arthur's sake then for her own; _ Arthur is irrelevant, and always has been, _she thought, drawing strength from her own independence. Nonetheless her eyes prickled, and her chest heaved as she attempted to gain control of her crumbling body, her mental instability quite apparent to both her and her jailer.

Morgana watched Gwen furtively from over her shoulder, conflicted as ever. There was something like tenderness in her heart, pity at seeing Gwen brought so low; and then pride, too, at how she held out, her defiance and courage. _ She is truly a remarkable woman _ , Morgana thought involuntarily, and then stopped herself. She remembered those times so long ago when they had cradled and stroked each other, shared every secret, every stirring of the heart, every waking moment - the days when they had formed each other's foundations, the solid, dependable rock upon which all their faith had been built. _ A love strong enough to outlast a lifetime, to span centuries _, she thought, and the bitterness did not come until a second later. Her beloved Gwen, her trusty sister-in-arms with whom she had survived capture and aggression from all sides, Gwen who had held her after her night in the dungeons, Gwen who had always stayed by her even after the insipid Merlin betrayed her time and again. She dreaded to remember her horror when Gwen had been captured that time in the forest, when she had run away in no more than her shift with the most sickening fear in the pit of her stomach, leaving her heart behind her. And then - the joy of reunion!

Her magic had changed all that. Gwen had proved ignorant and fearful like the rest, had turned on her, left her utterly, unbearably alone. _ She went over to the other side because she was weak _ , Morgana thought, and her brow darkened, her fingers clenching as she drew herself up. No, there could never be any reconciliation between them now, not after so long; now all that remained was for her to punish Gwen for her treachery, and destroy Arthur and all his ignorant, traitorous kingdom, for magic could not reign until Camelot was on its knees. She swept back over to where Gwen sat, her eyes gleaming, and bent down to her, murmuring, 'Sweet dreams, my lady,' and leaving her to the darkness of the tower cell, the only light the dying rays of sunlight that crept through chinks in the wall. Once outside, she rested her back against the lined wood of the door and closed her eyes, sighing deeply and sliding to the floor. The mandrake would do its work - she would doze here for now, for she was too tired to sweep the bedrooms and make the beds in the rooms below. _ Gwen _, she thought with a lump in her throat as she drifted out of consciousness. 

* * *

That night was the worst night of her life - until the one that came after, of course, and the one after that. Gwen found the darkness seemed to invade her mind and press close to her, nuzzling her like a living being, seeping into every hair and pore and blinding her in its totality. She dropped off from sheer exhaustion as the sun went down, but awoke suddenly some time later, finding herself shrouded so completely that she could not tell how far her hands were from her face, nor the shape of the room in which she now was. For all she knew, she could have been moved somewhere else entirely - for all she knew, Morgana could be gone, could have left her here in the middle of nowhere to rot in the shadows. The thought was like a knife to the gut, leaving her breathless, gasping, sobbing though she had borne up with such fortitude earlier. _ Earlier? How much earlier? _

All her muscles seemed to contract out of fear, and blindly did she crawl across the floor, dragging herself by her hands, pressing her fingertips into the ground in an attempt to keep it there, to make sure it did not move and leave her, too, leave her like the treacherous Morgana - _ oh, where is she now? _ Her panic took over, and she curled up into a tiny ball, squeezing her eyes shut and rocking backwards and forwards like a foetus, her hands and feet cramping from trying to make themselves so small. But try as she might she felt too restless to hide - she needed air, she needed space, she felt an itch in her legs and wanted to run, needed to so badly she felt she might die if she stayed still; indeed, it was possible that she _ would _ die if she stayed still, for who knew what horrors Morgana might have in store for her? Strangely enough, though, she could not think that Morgana would ever - that she could ever - she did not think that, if there was anything in here with her, Morgana would be to blame for it. Not directly. _ No, she is a woman of more sense and honour than that _ , Gwen thought, and sobbed, for where was she? Where was Morgana, where had she gone? _ I need her - I need Morgana, please, come back to me _ , she thought desperately and rocked harder, tipping over onto her side and shaking, her body spasming and her joints locking as her hair fell over her frozen face and stuck to her tears, the accidental brush of the soft strands horrifying and repulsive to her overwrought mind, her skin chafing at her very clothes, her very tears, itself, the need for escape and the need to be clean of all that held and bound her so overwhelming she felt she might vomit from it, the only thing stopping her her very repulsion. _ Oh God, oh God, oh GOD _ , she thought, and squeezed her eyes so tight they throbbed, her nose aflame from sniffing and sneezing and sobbing, all her senses on fire from this stimulation. She felt as if the darkness itself was violating her, invading her and touching her and caressing her with unwanted intimacy, creeping inside her through all her cracks and orifices, squashing the air from her lungs and slowly imploding all her organs with its crushing, all-consuming embrace - _ I don’t want it! MAKE IT STOP! _She sobbed even harder, her voice raising from a wail to a shriek, her scream shattering the silence with its unguarded despair and desperation.

Morgana was the only one who could make it stop, that much she knew and remembered, even in this state; _ I need Morgana _ , she thought suddenly, her breathing calming down. _ Morgana, please, I need you _, she cried, but the cry was only inward, for though she was lost to all sense she would never, never let such words pass her lips, not in a million years: years of indoctrination and fear had forced such things out of her, brainwashed any sympathy for magic from her. Nevertheless, she thought of Morgana so fondly in that moment, all sense of self-empowerment or outward support so thoroughly effaced, that Morgana might have come in then and her work would have been complete (if that had been her desired effect).

Her fit passed, and she slowly moved her stiff body, unlocking her crushed form and rising. Now she sat up on her knees, and for a brief, perfect second, she stopped being scared - not quite entirely, but just enough to regain sense, to remember who Gwen was, to separate Gwen from Morgana and Morgana from goodness, to return to the world. But then she shivered, for suddenly she felt as if she really weren’t alone; what if there were other prisoners, or magical...things? Malign presences sent to hurt her, torture her? Then she bitterly regretted her outburst, and, without even noticing, her breathing became shallower and shallower, till it was so quiet she was almost noiseless, her entire form leaving an eerie, too-complete silence where the rustle of her dress and the gurgling of her sobs and her ear-splitting shrieks had been. _ Do not see me _ , she prayed. _ Do not hear me, do not notice me, do not think of me, let me be utterly invisible _. She held herself utterly still, so still she thought she might break, and leant back against the pillar she had anchored herself too, closing her eyes just to escape the oppressive darkness. Her body went from freezing cold to scalding hot and then back again, her fingers tensing then loosening, her mouth dry then wet then dry again. It seemed like hours that she sat there, utterly frozen, her exhaustion bleeding into her brain just like the pregnant silence, the bestial darkness, her grip on reality relaxing again as she lost track of time and space and sanity. But such tension was impossible to maintain, and after a period of millenia she softened, and dropped her head in her hands, the weariness truly hanging heavy on her now that she was no longer sustained by adrenaline.

For some time she lay there, a puppet with the strings cut, her body crumpled like a rag doll that has been tossed aside. Her mind was utterly blank, and she even fell asleep (though she did not notice it), for she dreamed in broken, unpleasant fragments that vanished as soon as she jerked awake, her head snapping upwards painfully fast. _ How long was I out? _ she wondered, for there was no sign of dawn; it could have been hours, it could have been days, it could have been seconds. She cried a little then, groaning and sighing over the hopelessness of her situation, all ability to lie and pretend stripped back from her so that even now, in a state of relative sanity, she wished for anyone - Arthur, Merlin, Elyan, Morgana - to come and rescue her, no matter the cost.

It took some time for her to open her eyes again and bother to look around, but when she did, she found to her amazement that she could see a little better. Initially she felt a surge of relief, believing that dawn was nigh; but that soon proved a delusion, and so, despondent, she got to her feet and leaned against the pillar for support, her temples throbbing. When she moved, however, she felt a strange, cold breath of wind, and paused, dread pooling in her stomach and making her legs weak. _ Who’s there? _ she wondered, and then: _ who, or what? _ For the thing had been small enough to make only a light breeze, and at the level of her head, too. Her trepidation increased, and she swallowed the lump in her throat as she turned around. If the thing was high up then...perhaps it could fly. _ Or worse _ , she thought, and felt sick. _ Perhaps whatever it is is hanging up - perhaps Morgana killed it, then strung it up _.

She whipped round, feeling another cold breath of wind and hearing it, this time, but suddenly something smacked her in the forehead and she cried out, started back, ducked down. Her face was covered in something sticky, something wet and cold that dripped down into her eyes, her mouth, onto her dress. She screamed softly, and tripped backwards, sitting down with a painful thump and finding herself unmoored from her pillar. There was a moment where she hesitated, unsure what to do, but then she knelt carefully and dabbed at the fluid on her face, feeling the slimy texture on her fingers and resisting the urge to gag. Well, whatever it was was unfamiliar to her, or at least, she doubted it could be any one of the things it felt like to her, having never encountered this particular substance before - _ something magical? _ She had not enough wits about her to make logical assumptions in that moment. Sponging the liquid from her face and neck with the sleeve of her dress, she crawled slowly on hands and knees towards where she thought the pillar was, groping in the dark like a blind woman. It was no good; the pillar was not in that direction, nor any other side. Her breath caught in her throat, the hairs standing up on her neck as another puff of cool wind caressed her face. But as she backed up her body hit something hard, and she shrieked as for a horrible second she imagined feet, legs, a monstrous body...but then she felt with shaking hands and found cold marble, and knew that it was only the pillar that she had been searching for a moment ago. She let out a long, shuddering breath, licking her dry lips and closing her eyes.

A scream split the darkness like knife blade, tearing and rending the fabric of reality in all its terrible, unhinged entirety. Gwen jumped out of her skin and sobbed involuntarily, the noise wrenching more tears and cries from her though she tried to be brave, to ignore it, to remember that it was not real. The scream came again though, and it sounded so real - so familiar too - that she could not help but shake and suffer and scream with it, shuffling this way and that like a dismembered spider in an effort to find a safe corner, to escape an enemy she could not see, to save a friend she did not know. The shrieking came closer, cutting out suddenly and leaving an endless silence in its wake that only set her on edge all the more, waiting until she had really, properly let her barriers down, until there was no possibility of another noise, until she was almost asleep; that was the moment it chose to return, startling her awake so she screamed almost defiantly, screamed for Morgana, begged her to come. She was not reticent now - she wanted to get out, to get out as soon as possible, she needed to escape and to run. Morgana seemed like a beacon of hope in that moment, the infallible parent who would stave off the dark with her embraces and omnipotence, the mother who would stroke her hair and kiss away her tears and tell her it was all a dream. She calmed when she thought of Morgana, or at least a part of her did, the rest of her mind still consumed in animal terror.

The last torment of the night was the worst of all, the most terrible. She had clapped her hands over her ears to keep out the screams and so she stayed even as she opened her eyes to look for the dawn. It was still dark, but then - there! A light, a soft, blue light, not quite like the sun, but...Gwen’s stomach dropped as she felt the gust of freezing wind that accompanied the light. _ Oh no, no no no no no, please God no _, she thought, begging, the tears pouring down her cheeks as she raised her eyes to heaven. But instead of heaven she found only blackness, and then some of that cold, slimy gel dripped onto her face and she howled, saliva dripping from her mouth as she fell forward, utterly broken, utterly undone, but then, but then - 

‘Guinevere.’ The voice was gentle, masculine, comforting. Gwen raised her eyes slowly, saw a broad hand, a muscular arm, a doublet and collar and - oh, but it couldn’t be, and so soon, and had he really - did he really - 

‘Arthur!’ she breathed, ready to cry again from relief. But then she frowned. Could this be another of Morgana’s tricks?

Arthur seemed to sense her thoughts, and smiled slightly. ‘Gwen, please,’ he said gently, and she smiled a bit, for once grateful for his indulgent kindness. Her eyes softening and her wits returning, she leaned forward, studied him.

‘Is it really...is it really you?’

He smiled wider, and nodded. ‘It’s really me - truly.’ Gwen crawled forward, grovellingly grateful, her spirit broken, and for a second the light of the hope in her eyes seemed to illuminate the room, her glowing heart beating with a warmth it hadn’t had in a long while. Arthur smiled a little more normally at her, and then his smile widened to a grin, and Gwen halted, frowning slightly. Arthur saw her hesitation, and now she saw what she had not before - he seemed, oh, ghostly, almost...blue? Arthur watched her realise the truth, and then he threw back his head with a wild gleam in his eyes, and laughed, laughed heartily from the depths of his belly, his guffaws bouncing off the walls and multiplying so that they echoed in her ears. Gwen’s chest began to heave, her fingers clenching on the floor, and then she screamed, screamed loud enough to force the apparition to flee, her tears pooling on the floor and then drying on her face. But now she wasn’t just scared - no, she was beyond that. Now Guinevere found her strength, a strength born of bitterness, of exhaustion, of sheer, pure anger. _ How dare he mock me like that? _ she thought, her eyes flashing. For she was weak and fearful, true, but she had but lately been planning to betray her husband, had she not? - had she not intended full well to desert him, to run away?

_ I am nobody’s prisoner, _ she thought, ire lending her strength. Clutching the pillar, she dragged herself to her feet, and though she stooped to avoid whatever it was hanging from the ceiling her vengefulness did not change, and she blocked the night out of her mind as much as she could, drawing on the safest of those memories to give her strength. Then, surprised, she realised she had automatically known where the pillar was, despite having lost it in the dark. _ But then...but then… _

She looked around, and saw to her triumph the pale, grey light of dawn coming into the room, banishing the shadows. She looked up, and saw the dim, frightening shapes above her that were, nonetheless, much reduced in their fearfulness by the illumination, and though she did not yet have the courage to find out what they were, she could dodge them, avoid them, see that the confines of the room were far smaller than the gaping cavern it had seemed in the night, see where the door was. Though she would have liked to hammer on that door, to make a stand, to claw at Morgana’s eyes as she had dreamed of doing on the journey, she slid slowly down the pillar, curled up in the safety of its foot, and fell asleep, sinking into a slumber so deep it was almost dreamless save for traumatic, distorted flashbacks to the longest night of her life. And so it was the next night, and the night after that, and so life passed in a waking nightmare of exhaustion and captivity, the only constants hunger, thirst and terror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is not more romantic ok just think of it as a dodgy romance like Wuthering Heights where neither partner has any reason to love the other and only *passion*/psychological trauma brings them together. This was fun and also tough to write, and I've already messed up my publishing schedule (potentially). *works through childhood trauma by writing terrifying fanfiction*


	4. Frayed edges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen finds herself succumbing to Morgana's influence. Will she give in, or will she fight back?

Morgana awoke with a start, finding herself downstairs in the banqueting hall. _When did that happen?_ she wondered, for she was sure she had gone to sleep upstairs. Still, she was known to sleepwalk - her prophetic dreams often provoked such reactions. If_ only my magic were less demanding_. Dragging herself upright, she glanced around, seeing the shafts of sunlight streaming in through the high arrowslits. _About time to wake her up, then - good_. Wearily rubbing the dust from her eyes, she dragged herself to her feet and combed her tangled hair with her fingers as she traipsed up the tower steps, her mouth dry and her legs heavy after such a deep slumber. She idly fingered the silver bangle on her wrist, a gift from her dearly departed Morgause to help with her dreams - _I have much to thank you for my love_, she thought, remembering the years when the woman had cared for, loved and guided her. The remembrance was a painful one, for Morgause’s death was still a relatively fresh wound; _she was all I had_, Morgana thought involuntarily, and caught her breath, her eyes stinging with tears. Perhaps that was why she had chosen this mad scheme to get back at Arthur, for she didn’t need Gwen to do that, not really. And though at first when Gwen had been crowned she had felt - oh, unutterably betrayed, and by her oldest friend, too! - thought she had felt all that her ire had died down by now, four years later, especially now that she saw Gwen again in person. The physical reality of the woman she had loved and depended on so closely for so many years was shocking to her, a bolt from the blue that she could not deflect no matter how she tried. There were old emotions there, things she never dared even dream of, remembered affections and moments that evoked that time so strongly it was all she could do to remain calm, to remember herself. There was that deep, deep sorrow that she associated with that time in her life, when she had been betrayed and cast off gradually by all around her as her eyes were opened to the terrible truth of the world she had loved and lived in for so long. Her past...she hated her past above all else, for it awoke in her such a terrible tangle of trauma and feeling and vulnerability that she did not dare look back, not for all the world.

Gwen jolted awake, the murky world of demons and apparitions vanishing into the dim midday sunlight of the chamber. Blinking and shielding her eyes, she crawled backwards, unable to gather her thoughts. _I am in the tower,_ she remembered, but even that seemed mutable now. The room began to slide, changing focus, and she noticed with sudden excitement that the chamber door was open, revealing a sunlit flight of stairs. _Perhaps I am free after all,_ she thought, and remembered seeing Arthur in the night. _Did he come to rescue me? Is he here?_ Her memory was vague, frighteningly so, and she felt and noticed a fundamental shift in herself without understanding it, for she had been many days in the tower, too many - she didn’t know how many. She began to curl inwards, her frightened form crushed into a tiny ball, and dimly she thought of Morgana, remembered the safety of the other woman, of her company and kindness and caresses, her troubled mind confusing past, present and future until she could tell neither up from down, left from right. Her hands groped at the pillar at her back, holding onto its solid, certain form for anchorage; but then she felt strange, jagged grooves in the rock behind her and faintly recalled something forgotten, something important...she turned around to look. _A tally_, she thought, looking at the little marks, four in a row with a line through, and then again. A second later, she blinked at them, her eyes widening as she glanced down at the broken fingernails of her right hand. _I have been - I am marking the days_, she realised, and reached out slowly, digging her nail into the stone and scratching another line though it hurt like hell. But the pain, too, was an anchor, and slowly her senses began to return, and she felt a little flutter of satisfaction that she was defacing something of Morgana’s, claiming even just this inch of stone in return for her imprisonment.

‘That must hurt.’ Gwen jumped out of her skin, pressing her back against the pillar and praying for the voices to stop as she had done many times in the night. But this time it was no apparition speaking, and the sweep of silk over stone was a solid sound, the flesh and blood reality of Morgana more reassuring than anything she had yet seen despite the danger. Morgana circled her, looking down at her with a tender, contemplative sorrow in her eyes. ‘I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself, Gwen.’

Gwen sighed, relieved, and smiled a little hesitantly. ‘I’m not - I’m fine,’ she replied guardedly, still suspicious but not so much so that she could not appreciate and enjoy the sound of her own name on Morgana’s lips. She remembered once again their shared secrets and smiles; _Morgana is - was - my friend_. It really did seem like it now, for Morgana’s dark curls glowed softly with the sunlight behind them, and she crouched down, reaching for Gwen’s hand and taking it gently in her own to examine the broken, bleeding fingernails. When she saw the blood she tutted.

‘You mustn’t do such things,’ she said, and against her will Gwen believed the concern in her voice, the soft, luminous eyes, the slightly smiling lips. The sheer humanity of Morgana astounded her, for though she knew in principle that Morgana was a monster, that she was magical and therefore malign, though she had been told all this over and over all she saw now was a woman - a woman whom she had loved in her time, whom had looked after her and laughed with her and always, always been her friend. No matter how awake Gwen was now, she could not help but warm to the softness in the flawed person before her, her own good nature combined with an odd, deep-rooted respect for her former mistress conspiring against common sense. And even Morgana, for her part, believed her own role, just for a second - it was easier to pretend to be her old self than it was to harm Gwen, in truth. So it was not such a surprise that, for a minute, Gwen was fooled by Morgana’s genuine smiles, and believed herself to be safe.

Then she blinked, and it all dissolved. The vision of the old Morgana faded, and in its place this pale madwoman remained, so that Gwen both pitied and loathed the vision before her. It was not just Morgana who had changed - it was her, too. _Maybe I was once the gullible woman she believes me to be,_ Gwen thought, hardening her heart. _But I have walked through fire and come out the other side - I am strong now, just like her. It was not I who betrayed her, but she who betrayed me, betrayed all of us, and I will not stand to be humiliated at her hands_. Gwen drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and snatched her hand out of Morgana’s, darting forward and striking her across the face. Morgana stumbled back and reeled, Gwen drawing in her hand and backing up defensively against the pillar behind her. The two women faced each other, and by the flaming ire in Morgana’s eyes Gwen knew she had done something irredeemable, that whatever Morgana had been sparing her before would now rain down upon her, the true wrath of her new-old mistress unleashed in its entirety. The venom crackled in the air between them, but even though she was scared Gwen felt some of that deep satisfaction she had been dreaming of all those times she had imagined doing this to Morgana, and watched the red mark blossom on the face of her captor, the scratches from Gwen’s broken nails standing out sharply against the deathly white of Morgana’s skin.

Morgana sucked in a breath, raising one gloved hand to her cheek. There was no vulnerability or sympathy in her eyes now when she turned back to Gwen. ‘Well, Guinevere - I think you’ve made yourself perfectly clear this time.’ Her nostrils flared, a muscle twitching in her jaw, and Gwen felt a rush of admiration for the fine bones of that hated face and for the pure, unadulterated anger it contained, though she knew she was about to suffer more than she had ever done before. _Perhaps I could teach her a lesson, if I ever got the chance_, she thought, and could have laughed at the insanity of the thought. It was true, though - she would like to peel that arrogance back, to kill her with kindness and cruelty, carrot and stick..._much like she is trying to do to me,_ Gwen thought uneasily. They were two of a kind, both trying to tame the other, but she, like Morgana, could not be tamed, nor broken neither; all they could do was reach a kind of stalemate of insanity where they were both utter blubbing messes, unfit for anything. _I wonder what that will look like_, Gwen thought, and shuddered even as she enjoyed the irony.

After she slammed the door, Morgana leant her back against the wood, then used it to push off and run down the stairs. She only just reached the great dining room before a scream burst from her, a terrible, ear-splitting shriek that shattered all the windows and almost brought the building down. It was only the magic of the old tower that prevented her magic from destroying it, and even then, by the time she was done venting the whole banqueting hall was a wreck, the walls remaining but the plates and glasses and tables and cobwebs in smithereens on the floor. Morgana closed her eyes, breathing deeply, and when she opened them there was a lonely, vulnerable space contained within her pupils, a black pit in which she had been confined for two years, never seeing sunlight nor feeling the touch of kindness. _I would have killed for someone to show me kindness like this back then_, she thought, remembering her tenderness towards Gwen. But this was not the Gwen of before - this was not the woman she had known all those years ago. No, this Gwen was different, almost unrecognisable; _or perhaps I never really knew her,_ Morgana thought, stricken. She would never forget the look in those eyes after the woman had slapped her - the triumph, the pride, the challenge - oh, the strength she applauded, but against her? This vanity and stubbornness had to be broken out of her captive. _I admire and love her for the same reasons I despise and look down on her_, Morgana realised, and sighed. She sank to her knees in the middle of the empty room, and, though she tried not to think about it, could not help noticing just how lonely she was. _I need you, Gwen, for without you I have no-one. Not a soul in the world will love me if you can’t_.

Though she had considered adding to Gwen’s torture, she left her with only the mandrake for that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist. Neither could Gwen.


	5. Wandering minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen and Morgana are drawn irresistibly closer. Things are said and done that compromise them both - but will Gwen give in to Morgana's all-consuming spell?

Morgana did not visit Gwen for some days after that. Occasionally a bowl of food or water would appear in Gwen's chamber, but she never saw her captor in all that time, and as her nights grew worse and longer her days grew shorter and seemed fewer, so that her life appeared to her to be a timeless sequence of torment after torment, punctuated only by a sudden, unexpected sleep of the dead that came upon her only when exhaustion dragged her under. Slowly, gradually, like sand slipping through an hourglass, all her hopes of regaining her strength trickled away, and she felt herself weakening, calcifying, her bones growing brittle and her skin and hair thinning and her muscles atrophying bit by bit. At times she seemed to surface from her nightmare, and it was then that she felt the most despair, as she surveyed the tattered remains of her dress, the filth that caked her fingernails and toes and every hollow and cranny in her body, her limbs so weak she could barely stand up, let alone run or fight or any of the things she had dreamed about. She did not feel altogether lost, and neither did she give in, but her physical strength was dramatically reduced and with it her resistance to Morgana. If her captor had been more present in that time, perhaps she might have given in - or perhaps she would have grown stronger, who knew. But Morgana was going through a crisis of her own, and when she came to almost a fortnight had passed, so that, when the door to the chamber opened and sunlight poured in, Gwen was in a far different place than when she had slapped her mistress.

Gwen blinked and cowered, unaccustomed to so much light. She stumbled backwards, the dangling roots that hung from the ceiling smacking her in the head when she bumped into them, and her eyes were red and filled with tears that neither began nor stopped flowing, their sticky, seeping passage down her cheeks an endless condition now that she was who she was. Morgana saw at once that it was not she herself whom Gwen feared - no, now Gwen was afraid of everything, and flinched at the slightest gust of wind in spite of herself. Strangely, it gave Morgana gratification;  _ I am not the one she fears, not anymore _ , she thought, and smiled slightly. Gwen’s watery eyes blinked and seemed not to see her, this narrow silhouette in the brightness of the doorway - all she knew was that something had changed, something was different, something was wrong, and, child-like, she feared it.

Morgana stepped over the threshhold and an almost incomprehensible cry of ‘No!’ left Gwen’s lips. Morgana softened at this, physically and emotionally, and this time she was playing no role when she approached Gwen carefully, reassuring her with her warm, steady gaze, one hand outstretched. Gwen backed away and into a pillar, which halted her retreat and with it her fear, making her blink and a flicker of hope come into her eyes. Morgana smiled gently, and Gwen’s eyes scanned her face and form quickly, realising soon enough that she was real, solid. The maternal air of kindness, the immutability of her living flesh, the dazzling beauty in her sea-glass eyes and wild hair and willowy form; all of it drew Gwen, and though she had begun to be a little more firm of mind and footing nonetheless she felt irresistibly drawn to Morgana, unable to look away or refuse her outstretched hand. And then, when their shaking fingers met and she was certain, now, that Morgana was real, her skin soft and warm and human to the touch, Gwen could not help it - she threw herself into the arms of this woman, burying her damp face in her soft dark hair, breathing in the scent of warmth and ashes and light, floral sweetness that pervaded Morgana. Even now, after so long, she remembered that smell, the intoxicating female scent that had always covered Morgana’s clothes, something natural, sensual, and undeniably dear to Gwen. She could feel the beating heart beneath those clothes;  _ she is alive, and real, and mortal _ , Gwen thought, and felt nothing but relief. Of course she had reservations about  _ Morgana _ , but she had no reservations about this fellow woman who had come to her, her only corporeal visitor. Where she would have bridled a week ago now her pride and conditioning, formally so powerful, meant little enough to her that she could accept Morgana’s kindness, and allowed herself to be led quietly down the stairs by Morgana’s radiant smile and her warm hand, their footsteps deadened in sound by the thick walls of the tower.

It turned out to be sunset, for by the time they reached the banqueting hall the sun had gone down. Morgana had lit a candelabra with three tall candles, so they did not lack so much light, and by the flickering golden illumination Gwen saw the dusty, cobweb-shrouded table was laden with food, a feast for the two of them, the kind of fare she was used to in Camelot. Briefly, she wondered where Morgana had got the food, the cutlery, the plates, the candles -  _ this place cannot be so utterly isolated, then _ , she thought, but remembered Morgana’s magic and wavered. Was this the kind of thing warlocks and witches could do? In truth, she was woefully ignorant on the subject, and her cheeks burned as she realised it. It was not as if she had ever learned about magic, about what it was, what it could do; Uther would never have allowed any such thing, coward as he had been. Arthur, too, was more in favour of massacring rather that understanding the Druids and their ilk, and though Gwen had never felt happy about it she had never questioned it, either. What did she know about magic?  _ More than he does, or about as much _ , she thought sourly. Arthur was as ignorant as his people and possibly more so, and she had sat by and let it happen. Her queenly indignation at this did help restore some of her wits to her, and it was just as well, for she had been teetering too close to the edge, and though she did not take back her eagerness towards Morgana earlier she was mindful, now, of traps and tricks.

They were seated beside each other with Gwen at the head of the long table and Morgana on her left - Morgana had not cleaned away the layers of age-old filth that coated the room, save for this one corner. Gwen shivered as she glanced at the shadows outside their circle of lamplight, and wondered what dwelt there, if the things she saw moving were only reflections or something more, something animate, sentient, secretive. Here again her ignorance needled her, for her fear was born out of ignorance, and if she was afraid of the dark, afraid of magic, afraid of Morgana, it was only because she was afraid of what was contained within, what she did not know, the potential to do things she did not understand. She sat there, tongue-tied, lost in thought, while Morgana watched her, the pale eyes darting this way and that as they tried to read Gwen’s mood. At length, she spoke, and broke Gwen out of her reverie. Serving her a portion of pie, Morgana said, ‘Eat - here. Food always makes me feel better.’ Gwen narrowed her eyes, and shook her head slightly, unable to understand Morgana’s solicitousness. Morgana was adamant, though. ‘You must eat,’ she chided gently, adding, ‘You’re fading away.’ Gwen sucked in a breath, too tired to fight with anything but the truth.

‘I don’t know what cruel trick you’re playing, but I will not be  _ broken _ by you,’ she retorted sharply, regretting her tone after she spoke, but not the intention. For all that she had softened to Morgana, she would never lose herself in this stockholm syndrome - that much, she knew. 

Morgana chuckled incredulously at Gwen’s refusal of her hospitality, unperturbed, her smile ironic. Her voice a little hoarse, she declared, ‘I thought this would be nice!’ Something flickered in her clear eyes as she went on, ‘I know how lonely you must be, all by yourself in that room.’ Gwen squinted at her, resentful, trying to understand the hidden meaning behind those words. Morgana’s stare was bold, defiant, her nostrils flaring and a muscle twitching in her jaw as she appraised Gwen with a wild look. It was Gwen who broke eye contact, too exhausted for a battle of wills, and then Morgana pushed a little more, meditating, ‘At least you’re not shackled.’ Gwen frowned, but did not turn back to her hostess, listening intently but doing her best to seem unfazed. Morgana’s voice broke a little as she added, ‘And there’s daylight.’ That caught Gwen’s attention, but now Morgana was looking away, her expression carefully blank. ‘You can move, you can see,’ she pressed, raising her eyebrows with a fragility about her sullen mouth.

Gwen snorted, tired of Morgana’s games. ‘You expect me to be grateful?’ she interrupted, and once again, her words came across more aggressively than she had intended. Morgana’s expression was both tender and a little contemptuous when she replied.

‘I too have suffered, Gwen.’ This time, each pair of eyes was fixed on the other with no escape. Morgana wanted her to hear this, and Gwen was helpless to resist. ‘I spent two years living in darkness. I spent two years chained to a wall at the bottom of a pit,’ she added, and the ocean in her eyes became an ocean of pain, her voice cracking as she spoke the last word so that she had to pause.

Gwen’s eyes widened, her eyebrows going up as incredulity turned to wonderment. Perhaps she might have been inclined not to believe it, except - except - this was not a role that Morgana would ever choose to say.  _ She is telling the truth _ , Gwen realised, Morgana’s words sinking in, and suddenly her chest tightened, her stomach dropping as she realised what her hostess meant.  _ Two years, in darkness _ . Gwen thought back to the past month or so.  _ Two years of that...with nothing, no daylight, no movement _ . Morgana watched as the truth dawned on Gwen, and then her eyes widened, too. ‘You did not know?’ she said archly, a bitter irony in her expression as she thought of how her actions must have seemed all this time. Gwen shook her head, and her own protectiveness, tenderness, affection for Morgana reared its head, and this time it was sane, this time it was more than pity or fear or stockholm syndrome. For a second, something hung between them, something uncertain, something open, a certain space, a kind of vulnerability that left both breathless, speechless. It was Morgana who broke the silence.

‘I would have sold my soul for someone to show me kindness such as this,’ she finished, letting out a breath, her tone vehement, judgemental. Yet still there was something vulnerable in the truth of her words, and though Gwen felt her judgement she found herself nodding, accepting it. Yes, she had been entitled in her attitude towards her own treatment - yes, it was true, she was ignorant of many things, suffering included. Morgana gazed at her languidly, somewhat churlishly, as she added, ‘You want me to take you back up there?’ She placed a grape on her tongue and popped it, her eyes flashing at her prisoner. Gwen glanced down, pensive, repentant, humbled. She listened to Morgana eat, and thought a long time about what it was that she wanted, for she refused to make any more rash decisions like last time she had spoken to Morgana. In the end, though, her frustration and exhaustion got the better of her, and she sighed deeply as she spoke.

‘I want to wash,’ she replied quietly, and Morgana glanced up with a hawk-like attention, waiting to hear more. ‘I want to move properly, so that I do not die of weakness, and I want to feel the wind on my face again. I need fresh air and sunlight and exercise and a bath, if I am to survive this ordeal.’ Morgana stilled completely on hearing those words, and Gwen felt herself becoming nervous, her thoughts becoming disordered.  _ No - hold on _ , she told herself, willing herself to be calm.  _ You need to stay alert _ .

Morgana picked over her food for a long time before she answered Gwen’s plea. ‘How can I allow you to wash if I have to turn my back on you and let you out somewhere you might escape? How can I allow you to move if I know you might run away? I can’t very well allow you out, can I.’ Her tone was melodious and low as ever, her expression enigmatic, and Gwen could not tell what she was thinking, not this time. She glanced down, despondent.

‘I suppose not,’ was her only reply. She sighed, feeling that the matter was closed, but then Morgana opened her mouth again and she glanced up in surprise.

‘I can, however, allow you to do some of those things under my supervision,’ she said slowly, thoughtfully. ‘You may wash, and have clean clothes, and then if I see fit perhaps I’ll let you out onto the roof for some fresh air - we’ll see. Understand, if you try anything - and I mean  _ anything _ \- you will not be receiving such kindness again.’ Her brow darkened, her expression hardening, and Gwen thought with growing dread of what it would be like to be shackled, to be held someplace else, perhaps a dark, dank pit like the one Morgana had suffered in. Her eyes began to prickle as she thought of what that would be like, of what that must have been like for the woman before her; _ she is stronger than anyone I know, to have survived that _ , Gwen thought involuntarily. Morgana had suffered more than anyone Gwen knew, suffered inordinately for one so young, something she rarely thought about. Why was it that Morgana had been such a target for such treatment? The first night she had ever spent in the dungeons had only been because she was trying to stand up for what was right. In fact, Morgana had a noble heart, and it had only ever been that that had led to such cruel, harsh punishment. Whence then came her cruelty?  _ It is the cycle of abuse _ , Gwen thought, and felt oppressed by the terrible, lonely weight of the suffering of the woman beside her. Perhaps she herself would become like that, some day, provided that Morgana kept this up, that Arthur took any longer to arrive;  _ I’d forgotten all about him _ , she realised with a start. She knew he would be coming, but...now there was only her and Morgana in the universe, nothing more. They were all each other had, strange though it might seem - they depended on each other, though in what manner, Gwen did not understand.  _ I cannot live without her, and she cannot live without me _ .

Morgana stood up, her chair scraping against the stone floor. She reached out a commanding hand to Gwen, and Gwen took it, following her obediently as she was led down more flights of steps, stumbling a little from exhaustion. She was out of breath by the time they reached the bottom, and once again felt oppressed by her own weakness.  _ Have I grown so feeble in such a short time? _ , she wondered, and then remembered that she did not in fact know how long it had been, for though she had scratched a tally into her stone pillar she was not sure she could trust it - she was not sure she could trust herself, now. She hesitated, leaning heavily on Morgana’s arm to get her breath back, and her captor paused, and turned back to look at her, waiting for her to regain her strength. There was a moment where they caught each other’s eye, and again Gwen saw that enigmatic withheld ferocity in Morgana’s light irises, Morgana glimpsing the same in Gwen’s darting dark brown ones. There they stood, light and shade, yin and yang, heat and cold, the perfect opposites offsetting each other in the flickering torchlight, and Morgana felt a surge of something irrepressible and strong and Gwen almost started forward, and then their momentary magnetism abated and Morgana turned back to unlock the door before them.

The room they entered was as dim and gloomy as the last one, and just as strangely and as sparsely furnished. When Gwen’s eyes adjusted she saw that there was in fact a narrow window set high in the wall through which moonlight streamed and illuminated a large wooden tub that sat in the centre of the room. She glanced questioningly at Morgana, who only raised her eyebrows at her. ‘You said you wanted to wash,’ she said, and Gwen’s eyes widened, a momentary, fragile gratitude and delight flickering fleetingly in them before it passed away, a mild suspicion returning.

‘And I thought you said I couldn’t,’ she replied slowly, and Morgana rolled her eyes.

‘Of course I can’t let you out of my sight, but I’m not going to do that,’ she explained, and Gwen swallowed, understanding. She didn’t know why, but she felt - it felt - strange, the idea that Morgana would... _ Stop fussing _ . She had got what she wanted, hadn’t she? Nonetheless, she felt nervous about being so vulnerable around Morgana; and of course they had been naked around each other many times before - indeed, Gwen had formerly washed Morgana herself, more often than not - but this...this was different.  _ That _ was years ago, and this was now, and here.

It seemed Morgana was remembering the same thing, and she read Gwen’s thoughts in her face, her eyes glowing in the darkness;  _ so reticent _ , she thought, amused. Going over to the bathtub, she filled it with water and heated the water with a flick of her wrist, her eyes turning momentarily golden as she used her magic. Gwen watched, entranced and a little afeared, as Morgana completed this task so simply, her magic enabling her to bypass even the simplest of menial chores - her mind called out that it was wrong, but her heart and gut felt uneasy at the thought of her own resistence to such things. Who was she to dictate the laws of the natural world, to say what was right and wrong?  _ Magic isn’t a question of morality - only fools like Uther think that _ . Was she, too, a fool? She blushed, and frowned, disquieted. How was it that, for all her resistance to the world in which she had lived, she had nonetheless accepted its strangest of laws without question? Morgana seemed to see what she was thinking, and smirked ironically, a bitter pain flashing in her eyes. ‘Your bath is ready, my lady,’ she murmured softly, her lips twitching, and Gwen wavered, scratching her neck anxiously.

Morgana took this as an assent, and stepped behind Gwen, carefully lifting her hair away from her back and unlacing her dress with nimble fingers. Gwen jumped, blushing at such an intimate act - coming from this woman, it felt so wrong, so different to how innocuous it should have been.  _ I never know where I stand with her _ , she thought, and suddenly a kind of despair took over, so that she sagged beneath Morgana’s ministrations and passively let her remove her bodice, her skirt, her stockings and petticoats. When she stood in just her chemise, however, Morgana paused, and it seemed she, too, was infected with some of Gwen’s hesitancy. Gwen felt her stillness, and glanced over her shoulder questioningly to see Morgana’s wide eyes and innocent apprehension; she seemed almost scared, nervous. It was Gwen’s turn to smile slightly, something both bitter and tender in her gaze as she looked back at her captor. Morgana seemed to shake off her reverie, and glanced up inquiringly into Gwen’s eyes, raising her eyebrows - but Gwen had caught that moment of soft fragility, and now she treasured it and stored it up within her, though she wasn’t sure why she was quite so protective of the memory.  _ Perhaps I could use it as ammunition against her _ , she thought tentatively, but the thought seemed wrong, out of place. It was not that, then. She would put the mystery to rest, for now.

Stepping forwards, Gwen reached down for the hem of her skimpy slip, slowly lifting it up and over her head and trying not to think about anything. Morgana’s eyes burned into her back, watching her every move, and even though she could not see her captor she could not help but feel the undeniable ferocity of her gaze, and wonder at its source. Morgana felt she could not take her eyes off her captive, her look irresistibly glued to Gwen’s every move, her eyes flashing turquoise as she watched each inch of soft golden skin appear, from the long, smooth legs, to the round, peach-like buttocks, up the slender back with its central line and over the upper vertebrae to the dark curls that now came cascading back down as the chemise was tossed aside, the woman shivering in the moonlight. Gwen could feel herself getting goosebumps, her dark nipples hardening in the cold air, and though she did not mean to she couldn’t help but turn around, looking over her shoulder at her captor. She did not know what she was looking for, nor why she was looking - it was a strange mixture of vulnerability, pride, vanity and insecurity that she felt in that moment, so different from everything she had felt before - but when she caught Morgana’s eyes and the luminous aquamarine blazed into her in full force she froze, captured and held in place by that smouldering scrutiny. Her colour was high, her cheeks burning when at last she tore herself away, stepping slowly into the steaming bathwater so that her legs tingled almost painfully at the change of temperature, the blood pumping round her body and her heart rate accelerating with the alteration.

Morgana let out a long breath, and looked aside then back, biting her lip. Annoyed at her own bashfulness, she stepped forward suddenly, and reached for the washcloth that had fallen on the floor a little way away from the tub. Gwen sighed as the hot water warmed her, groaning and closing her eyes and sinking down as she relaxed for the first time in weeks, and Morgana froze, that little sound so unlike anything she had ever heard Gwen make before. Her eyes darted all round the room as she attempted  _ not _ to look at her captive, but it was all-but impossible - she cursed herself for allowing this to happen in the first place. Granted, seeing Gwen relax awoke something within her; but it was easier to be cruel, for then the boundaries were simpler, the lines in the sand older than time itself. Now she had introduced doubt, confusion, and as a result she suffered and felt those emotions, as did Gwen.  _ Perhaps I have erred _ , she thought, but seeing Gwen so satisfied was an improvement on the defiant, wretched woman of two weeks ago. For her part, Gwen found her own mental capacities momentarily limited by the sudden sensation that assaulted her: the tingling throughout her body as the blood rushed back to those places it had forsaken, the stinging at her wrists as sensation returned to her old open sores from the bonds she had worn in the first days of her imprisonment, the sensitivity all over after so much numbness and the soothing, soft warmth that invited her further into vulnerability, into nudity, drawing her away from her apprehension and encouraging her guard down little by little. She sighed, and the corners of her lips dimpled a little, the closest to a genuine smile she’d come in months. Her hands tickled where she soaped herself up, but then just as she went to clean them off she realised she had no washcloth, and paused, glancing around.

Morgana saw Gwen’s sudden hesitation, and knelt down beside the rim of the bath, resting her arms on the edge of the tub. ‘What is it?’ she said softly, and though her expression was always fierce it seemed remarkably, unfeignedly soft in that moment.

Gwen bit her lip. ‘Is there - do you have a cloth I could…?’ she stammered, blushing, and to her surprise Morgana blushed too, though there was no reason for her to.

‘Of course, of course,’ she replied, handing Gwen the cloth. But then she paused, and God knows what made her do it - maybe it was the wine from dinner, the heat coming off the water, her earlier revelation - but she opened her mouth, and said, ‘Let me wash your back.’ Gwen blinked, her eyes widening, but since it had been phrased not so much as a request than as a command she turned obediently, lifting her wet hair out the way and presenting the nape of her neck for her hostess, acutely conscious of everything and blushing furiously.

Morgana crouched down behind her, rolling up her sleeves and leaning forward. She dipped her hands in the hot water and reached for the soap, slicking up Gwen’s golden skin with suds. She could see every one of Gwen’s vertebrae, and felt a terrible pang as she realised how thin she’d grown -  _ she really is fading away _ , she thought, and then  _ I did this to her _ . Frowning, she shook her head and focused on the nape of Gwen’s neck, massaging soap over that, too, and then dipping down to the base of her spine, low enough that Gwen jumped. Gwen dipped her head as Morgana soothed her skin with her fingers, her eyes half closed and her muscles loosening as Morgana kneaded the tight knots in her shoulders. The blood rushed to her core, following the path of Morgana’s fingers so that her skin was even more sensitive than usual, her hair tickling her breast and stomach where it fell over her shoulder, her legs bent and slightly spread so that that point between them also warmed, the blood going there, too. Morgana sensed Gwen’s increasing relaxation and smiled in spite of herself, reaching for the washcloth as she put the soap aside and soaking it in fresh, hot water that dripped down and trickled in rivulets over Gwen’s smooth skin as she began to smooth away the soap suds bit by bit, sponging away the dirt with the greatest care and thoroughness, prolonging the moment for as long as possible almost subconsciously and feeling a strange tightness in her chest, a warmth in her body and a stinging in her eyes that confused and overwhelmed her even as she pushed into it. Gwen was sighing, now groaning into her movements, and Morgana pressed more of her weight into her, her face so close to Gwen’s that she could smell the damp cleanness of her hair, see every little speck of peachfuzz on Gwen’s skin, where her hair began to curl more tightly into its natural style, the little baby fronds that dangled down from the crown of her head and brushed her shoulders. Though the room was cold it felt very warm just then, to both of the women; and the warmth spread outwards, and seemed to bathe the world in a new light so that for a moment they forgot themselves, allowing themselves to relax.

Gwen's eyes were closed, and she could feel Morgana's warm breath ghosting over her neck and automatically leaned into the sensation. Morgana, by now intently absorbed in the other woman, noticed this, and hovered ever closer to Gwen, growing bolder when the other did not move away. She could resist no longer - her desire to touch Gwen was too strong, the whirlpool of this charged magnetism dragging her under, her inhibitions falling away like so much dust as she breathed in the scented steam rising from Gwen's damp skin. Gwen sensed that Morgana's face was a mere hair's breadth away, and hesitated, listening to her heart; but after everything - Morgana's revelation, her weeks of confinement, her tender eyes and old goodness - she couldn't help giving in, though it might have been wrong. Morgana saw Gwen tip her head even closer towards her, and reached for Gwen's damp hair, lifting it out the way decisively and carefully in a move that committed her and compromised her utterly, but one that she could not regret. Gwen's eyes flickered beneath their lids at this, but did not open, and as she still offered her neck Morgana gave into her desire in a rush, stooping and pressing her lips to Gwen's warm, vulnerable skin, that spot on the side of her throat that she had always adored. Gwen groaned softly, and let out a long, deep sigh, her noises barely audible but louder than a cannon shot to Morgana who surged inwards as Gwen turned around, at last opening her eyes just as Morgana closed hers and their lips met.

Well, almost - for just as Gwen felt the beginnings of the kiss she gasped, drew back. Morgana opened her eyes, searched Gwen's face in confusion, and Gwen was afraid of the ardour she saw in that green gaze, the burgeoning passion. Tears welled up in her eyes and she raised a hand to her mouth, to the spot where Morgana had almost kissed her, claimed her, won her round. Again Morgana's eyes searched for hers, beseeching, questioning, reaching, but Gwen shook her head, closed her eyes, and drew her knees up to her chest. She was quivering, and Morgana's chest was heaving with emotion that she would not allow to reach the surface, but Morgana did not scream or shatter anything as before, and there was no simple ire in her gaze - only longing, a deep, deep ardour that frightened Gwen as much as it confused her. She looked away, not wanting to see or acknowledge, and rubbed her sore wrists, the tender flesh of which was still stinging in the hot water; Morgana noticed the gesture, and reached for Gwen's arms, but the latter snatched her hands back and crossed them over her chest protectively, trying to hide her wounds and her nakedness. Morgana seemed more hurt by this than anything else, and frowned slightly, pain clouding her beautiful clear eyes - but Gwen did not see, for still she refused to look.  _ I cannot _ , she thought, her face trembling in an effort to suppress tears, her nose stinging and her skin growing cold in the icy night air. Morgana gave her one last sweeping, beseeching, devastating glance, then rose to her feet and strode over to the other side of the room, turning her face away to hide the tears that she shed silently, wiping them away as quickly as possible. For a second, the two women suffered in the deepest, darkest shadow of night; and then Morgana returned to the bathtub and commanded Gwen to get up, hurrying her into her clothes before she was dry and binding her hands with a soft silk scarf that was nonetheless a form of prison, and which she used as a tether to lead Gwen back upstairs and into a moonlit chamber different to the dark, mandrake-filled room in which she had previously kept her captive. She showed Gwen inside, and then closed the door on her quietly, locking her hostage in for another lonely night. Gwen wept properly then, though still silently - wept for her own confusion, for the knowledge of what she was denying herself in refusing to become Morgana's pet, for her poor, broken heart. And Morgana sobbed in the bedroom below, lying beneath the coverlet and shaking, the first time she had truly cried for love in many years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting steamy, though not quite steamy enough.


	6. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of their encounter weighs heavy on both Gwen and Morgana. How will they cope with this unexpected vulnerability?

Gwen awoke to glorious golden sunlight, and for a moment, she was completely disorientated. Rubbing her sleep-crusted eyes, she blinked and squinted, looking around. The room was sparsely furnished in cobwebs and bits of broken furniture, the high windows arched and the ceiling lost in shadow. It was then that Gwen remembered, and she sat up sharply, sucking in a breath. _Morgana_, she thought, and looked down at her silk-bound hands, frowning. Her back ached from lying on the floor, her eyes were puffy and sore beneath swollen lids, and her legs refused to support her when she tried vainly to stand up - but she was better rested than she had been in months. Otherwise, her mouth was exceptionally dry and her hair as wild as ever, for she had not had time to clean it the night before and it had stiffened into its more natural curls, the spiralling tendrils of her afro striking and velvety like melting butter in the morning light. _Another thing I used to tame for Arthur's sake_, she thought, and snorted. She had suppressed so much of who she really was just to fit into Camelot's society, that small, idyllic town where they disliked outsiders, a bad place for any who looked or lived or felt different and not a place of asylum. _I am free now_, she thought triumphantly. _I never have to see him again. _

It was then that she realised with a start that even if he came to rescue her, Gwen could never go back. Or at least, she could not go back without leaving something of herself behind, without surrendering her own right to live._ I would be burying myself alive_, she thought, and shuddered. Not for all the world would she do that; which left the question of what she would do, considering it was just her and Morgana then. She still had no idea how she felt about that woman anymore - there was affection, sorrow, regret, but very little fear or revulsion. Perhaps some hatred, but more for herself, for giving in too easily, for allowing Morgana to have rights over her. She just couldn't allow Morgana to have any power over her, that was the problem - she terrified and sick to death of being someone's belonging, someone's wife, someone's daughter, someone's sister, someone's maid. _I refuse to be possessed_, she thought, and felt strengthened.

On the other hand, neither could she allow Morgana to become her subordinate, as she had once been hers. Morgana was strong, and deserved respect; Gwen did not want to possess or humiliate her, as she had before. All sadism was fled from her mind, and with it all certainty, so that she knew deep down that even if she had wanted to escape it would have been impossible to fight Morgana. And, she reflected, the same was true the other way round - Morgana could not fight her. Perhaps she could torture her, hate her, for Morgana was more prone to those things than anyone, and if so Gwen would reciprocate in kind, for she would not stand to be mistreated again. If she was at all a masochist, her masochism had to come from a place of love, safety, respect; she was not looking to be traumatised. In fact, everything between her and Morgana must be just that - they must feel safe together, respect each other, treat each other as equals. That, Gwen felt more strongly than anything else. _Unless she can treat me like an equal, I cannot reconcile with her. _

The door opened, and Gwen twisted round as Morgana stepped into the room. The other woman had deep, bruise-like shadows under her eyes, which was fairly normal, though Gwen felt sure they had never been this bad. Her dark hair was limp and greasy around her bloodless face, and she moved slowly, to all intents and purposes absolutely exhausted. Gwen felt both satisfaction and consternation at this shift - she_ has been thinking as much as I, then_. She had to suppress a smile, and as she watched the figure before her blurred in the sunlight and for a second a younger woman stood before her, carefully groomed with red lips that offset her shining green eyes, a little unsure but gracious nonetheless, stooping slightly in a robe of soft mauve and blue silk. But then this ghost faded away, and Gwen felt a strange leap of recognition and relief when the real Morgana stood before her once more, imperfect, empowered, exhausted, her ragged black dress clinging loosely to her emaciated form, her eyes paler than ever and somewhat lined, her nose snake-like and a little pink._ I prefer her this way_, Gwen realised with a start.

Morgana watched her intently, appraising her with a slightly distracted, piercing gaze, forgetting to put up a facade so that the ferocious, moody doubt of her resting face prevailed, an oddly endearing expression. Gwen looked better than before, her hair a caramel-coloured crown that haloed her golden face, her eyes a little brighter and her skin smoothed by sleep. With a pang, Morgana realised that she had not let Gwen wash her hair the night before - _that was foolish of me_, she thought tentatively, and bit her lip. There was a rustle as she brought forward something she'd been holding. 'Here,' she said, and Gwen blinked.

'What's that?' she asked, squinting. Morgana swallowed.

'I thought you might want a change of clothes.' Understanding dawned on Gwen, and she smiled slightly in thanks. Morgana took another step closer, uncertain. She saw Gwen's bound hands, and shook her head, the tiniest hint of a smirk tugging on her lips. 'Forgive me - I forgot…'

'It's fine,' Gwen said quickly, getting to her feet with some difficulty. Morgana quickly untied her bonds, and Gwen flinched as the silk rubbed against her wounded wrists, her weeping sores as painful as ever. Morgana noticed, and her eyes widened as she dropped the silk scarf on one side. Before Gwen could protest, she tossed away the dress and pulled Gwen's hands towards her none too gently, clasping her wrists and murmuring a spell while her eyes flashed golden. Gwen recoiled, snatching away her arms, and when she looked down at her wrists she saw (and felt, too) that her wounds were gone. Slowly, her eyes met Morgana's, mistrustful. 'What did you do to me?' 

Morgana frowned. 'I just wanted to heal you, that's all,' she said, something vulnerable and confused in her expression. Gwen quivered, backing away. 

'I don't believe you,' she said softly, her eyes dark with fear. Something in Morgana's gaze flickered and stumbled, and she cast her eyes down, diminished.

'I only wanted to help,' she mumbled, and when she looked up Gwen saw just how wounded she was by her suspicion. 'I thought it would be nice, some - oh, I don't know - a form of apology?'

Gwen shook her head. 'No,' she said, almost wrathfully. 'No, you don't get to do things like that, you can't expect me to believe - after everything you've done, after everything - that you are…benign, that your powers, your - unnaturalness! - can be used for good.' Gwen shook, her eyes black and her expression fearful, and Morgana saw that she was rubbing her wrists over and over, as if trying to get clean. It was that that broke her heart, that that hurt Morgana deepest.

There were tears in her eyes now, which shocked Gwen. 'Please! Believe me! Listen to me! I have been cast out and cut off over and over again for my powers, Gwen, and you cannot think that I would ever use them for ill like this, you cannot believe the poison they fed you! Please, Gwen - you cannot hate me for my magic, not you! I need you to understand,' she implored, stumbling forward. Gwen blinked, balked, stopped, shocked by this display of emotion. And then, with a terrible pang, she realised how priggish she must seem, how prejudiced her haughty, superior air, how hollow and pointless her hatred. Oh, it was hard to overcome that fear, that deep-rooted disgust towards magic that had been drummed into her since birth; but then she remembered all the innocents hung by Uther and Arthur, her own father among their number, all the burnings and massacres and the endless cruelty and she knew, knew in her bones that her overreaction had been foolish, narrow-minded. She remembered, too, Morgana's words the day before - how she had been imprisoned, locked away, tortured and treated like an animal for two whole years - oh, she couldn't bear the thought! _How would you feel if it was you?_ she thought, and knew the answer perfectly well. And so, her chest heaving with emotion, she stepped forward and reached for Morgana, taking her abruptly in her arms and holding her close.

For a second, Morgana seemed surprised, but then she did not hesitate. Dropping her head on Gwen's shoulder and burying her face in her hair, she sobbed softly into the other woman's warmth, feeling the light that seeped between them, the softening that came over them both as their bodies met. And so together they melted, merging irrevocably, Gwen's eyes prickling as Morgana's streamed, each face hidden from the other in their tight embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its short! More is coming.


	7. Fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen and Morgana reach a tipping point, and their uncertainty pushes them to places they would never have expected.

They sat together that day, for the first time in eight years. Morgana let Gwen into her bedroom silently, apparently the only largely clean room in the tower, and when she had made the bed and smoothed over the silk coverlet thoughtfully with her cold white hands, they perched on the edge, Morgana with her back to one bedpost and her knees drawn up, Gwen leaning on her elbow with her feet hanging down over the edge of the mattress. 

Morgana spoke first, after a long period of quiet. 'I'm sorry,' she said, and Gwen looked up, the tears starting back into her eyes from sheer surprise at this apology. Shakily breathing in, she exhaled slowly, squinting in the bright light.

'What for?' she replied helplessly, raising her eyebrows and shrugging her shoulders. Of course Morgana had plenty to apologise for, but - what specifically did she mean this time? What was the sincerity, the solemnity about? Gwen's chest felt tight and she scrunched up her face in confusion then tried to smooth it out again, though still retaining a pained sort of expression. Morgana echoed her earlier sigh, her ferocious gaze clouded and clear and her face matching Gwen's.

She deliberated for a moment, then answered, 'I'm sorry for locking you away. I'm sorry for kidnapping you, for torturing you, for hurting you. I'm sorry for tormenting you, manipulating you, trying to break you. I know now that I was wrong and you were right - please accept my sincerest of apologies.' She looked up, her black eyebrows as dangerous as ever and her expression burning, and Gwen narrowed her eyes again, unable to make Morgana out. The woman had an unrepentant, almost angry, defiant look, and yet for all that her words were shockingly submissive.

A chill went down Gwen's spine, and she curled inwards so that her knees were drawn up to her chest. 'Why would you say such a thing?' she breathed, hoarse, and to her surprise felt the deepest, darkest rising fury, her nostrils flaring and her breathing becoming ragged. Suddenly she wanted very much to attack Morgana, to beat her bloody and break her bones and trample over her, to tear that fragile body to pieces till it was smashed to smithereens. A tight, hot ball of something irrepressible and unrequitable burned in her chest, a ballooning pressure that destroyed and replaced her heart, made her wheeze and choke and squeezed little droplets from her tear ducts so that her eyes dribbled and were sticky and sore once again, her whole body hot and furious with beating blood. Morgana watched her with a wide, wary, implacable gaze, her calm unshakeable though somehow also terrified, her cool blue-green eyes like cold water to Gwen's molten ire, her white marble skin cool and deathly and still. Tears bled from her eyes, too, perhaps from staring for so long, but instead of flaring up she seemed to deflate even further, till Gwen felt she was looking down on a little rag doll, immobile, emotionless, fragile. And then she became frightened, afraid herself and her violent thoughts, fearful of her own feelings and their strength and sheer impotence, the thwarted helplessness of her emotions. Confused, frustrated, overwrought, she stumbled backwards over the bed, her eyes fixed on her shaking hands, her skirts tripping her up. There were no words to describe how she was feeling, nothing she could say to escape this mindset - and yet she hated it, abhorred it, wished it over and done with. But then - but then - she rolled over onto her front and found Morgana's pillow, biting down on it hard and screaming with all her might, beating her fists into the bolster and kicking with her legs till her tantrum was wild enough for her to forget, to lose all sense of self, to exhaust her physical form and her mind.

Morgana watched impassively, somewhat scared, empathetic too; for she had been there, and even felt satisfied at knowing that she was past this stage, that she had at least healed enough to avoid this, though perhaps that was not quite true. When Gwen collapsed on her front and went still, she paused too, seeing Gwen's back heave as she gasped in air, watching her convulse a little as the last screams or sobs shook her. And then Gwen sat bolt upright and began to claw at her hair and clothes, saying, 'Please - I need to wash, I need space, I need to breathe, I must be clean, please let me out, let me be clean,' and Morgana nodded quickly and helped Gwen to stand, striding swiftly over to one corner of the room where she threw open a pair of tall damask curtains to reveal a stone balcony. In another second, she had produced a wooden tub filled with hot water and laid the change of clothes she had prepared earlier over the parapet of the terrace, obeying Gwen quickly and unquestioningly so that Gwen, oblivious though she was, felt her need ease a little. But still her clothes and dirt chafed at her, and then Morgana was there and unlacing her dress and her petticoats were gone and her slip was gone and she lingered a second, letting the fresh morning air caress her naked body, breathing it in to clear her lungs, and then climbing into her steaming bath to submerge herself completely beneath the surface of the water.

Bubbles streamed from her mouth and nose and spiralled past her open eyes, the water slopping into her ears, her hair swirling around her in a heavy, swooping halo. She felt every bit of sweat and grime dissolve off her, and spread her legs and arms to let the waves into every crevice, her blood warming then cooling and flowing evenly, softly, her heart rate speeding up then slowing as she floated. Then she came up for air, and shut her eyes as the water streamed off her, smoothing her hair back so not one bit of it touched her face. Morgana had noticed that in Gwen - the woman hated the feel of hair in her face. Gwen rubbed her eyes, snorting to clear her nostrils of water, and Morgana dropped the soap and sponge into Gwen's lap so that she chuckled, and began to scrub herself, taking her time to polish every inch of skin and even lathering up her scalp so that she felt utterly changed from the wretched creature of half an hour ago. Morgana sat on the edge of the balcony and watched, her heart leaping every time Gwen let out a groan or satisfied sigh or smiled, sweating in her loosened bodice as she tried to contain her excitement and agitation. She wanted to run all round the balcony, but she restrained this mad impulse if only not to break Gwen out of her joy.  _ Oh, please let this be it,  _ she thought.  _ Please Gods do not break the spell. _

Gwen rose slowly and shakily from the bath, swaying a little in her weakened, softened form. Morgana brought a towel to her and helped her dry off, massaging Gwen's scalp when she got tired, patting down her face and body and wiping away the trickle of water at the nape of the neck that she loved so much she almost couldn't contain herself; but then Gwen strode over to the dress on the edge of the balcony, and pressed it to herself, breathing Morgana's scent in from the rustling silk and then donning it slowly, eventually glancing over her shoulder till Morgana stepped up behind her and slowly, carefully laced up the back of her bodice. The dress was a little tight, and Morgana felt a little unsteady when she saw how it hugged Gwen's curves, her pale eyes flashing. Gwen noticed, and smiled, her eyes shining and her whole body seeming to glow. When Morgana looked up they caught each other’s eye, and for a second neither of them seemed to move and the burning, crackling, blazing light energy between them was hotter and brighter than the sun; and then Gwen leaned in and Morgana surged towards her, and their lips met as hands came to waists and napes and the brightest fireworks exploded behind closed eyes, Morgana melting into her unbearably vast desires as Gwen gave in to those feelings she had sought to ignore, to destroy. And right then and there, they burned hotter than the brightest star, the fire between them wild and unquenchable, their love terrifyingly deep and liquid like lava erupting down a mountainside.

Finally, they broke apart, dizzy from lack of air. Morgana's eyes shone, and, breathless, she murmured, 'Where to? Where shall we go?', and Gwen shook her head, shrugging helplessly.

'Anywhere - anywhere in the world, as long as it's away from Arthur, and always with you.' And so they would leave the dark tower forever, never to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This made me happy, and I hope the same for y'all.


	8. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana dreams of danger, darkness and desire, and discovers something that threatens her newfound joy.

They packed what little they had in a flurry, and by afternoon they were off. Gwen felt her chest tighten as she glanced back at that dark monolith one last time, the place where she had suffered, the place where she had been the loneliest and the happiest. Fear seemed to choke her as the overwhelming emotions and memories came back, but then she looked forward into the sunlight, the open horizon, the dark figure that rode a little way ahead of her, and her heart leapt, and this time she was choking on light, on something else unimaginably sweet and uncontrollably ebullient to the point where it stretched her lungs to the seams so they felt as if they would burst. Her lips split into a wide grin, and Morgana seemed to sense her mood, for she turned around and, tossing her unruly dark hair out of the way, gave an answering smile, her pale blue eyes shining almost with tears and her tangled curls glowing with a warm light where the sun hit them from behind. Her pallid skin was radiant in the sunshine, and though her unhealthy look never quite left her still in Gwen's eyes she was transformed. They wandered into the sunset, meandering on their horses, basking in the luxury of absolute freedom, and from time to time one or both of them would stop, smile, and lean across to the other for a kiss, a touch of the hand, a small embrace. Gwen would stroke Morgana's face and for some minutes they would lose themselves acutely in each other's gaze, Morgana sliding a slender arm around Gwen's waist to hook her in closer, a touch that Gwen felt through her bodice down to the very tips of her toes.

But this golden hour could not last forever. Gradually the sun went down, and with it their energy, weariness overcoming them with the onset of night. By the time twilight came they were out of the blankness of the desert plain and into the tangled shrubbery of the forests, picking their way on foot along barely-there paths that only Morgana knew, leading their horses at a crawling pace through the knotted undergrowth. Finally, even Morgana could not see the path ahead despite her magic, and so, admitting defeat, Gwen sank down against a tree trunk, exhausted. Morgana, her eyelids drooping, hustled Gwen back up again. 

'We must make a proper camp,' she insisted, and Gwen submitted meekly, too tired to argue. They tied the horses securely to a branch and pitched their makeshift tent, preparing the bedrolls that Morgana had packed and finally settling down with just enough energy left to glug from the water bottle and consume some of the leftovers from that morning. Then, at long last, they curled up back to back, and fell asleep, too tired to keep a lookout.

Morgana dreamed that night. _Two figures, tangled up in the middle of a vast ocean of night, two tiny, insignificant figures like twin tongues of flame. One was pale with dark, dark hair, the other golden and brown. Both were women, curled up around each other - and then the figure to the left, the pale woman, was kissing the side of the golden girl's neck, sliding a flattened hand over her stomach so the golden one shifted and strained, her eyes closed as she leaned into the fragrant warmth of her companion. Once again lips met unbelievably soft skin, one thumb pressing into the space on that abdomen where stomach turned into ribs, just below those round, cupped breasts, ripe and tumbling from the low-cut bodice that encased her. Raven strands tangled with and obscured brown curls as the two women faced each other, dead leaves streaking their locks, their eyes burning and moist and no more than eyelash length away. Warm mouths met, hot tongues sliding into each other and circling, and though Morgana watched from above she felt everything, too, as if she were also the woman below. And then she was taking control, rolling on top of the other woman, pinning her wrists down and straddling her with hitched up skirts that revealed two sets of thighs, one slender, sinewy and moon-pale, the other thick and pillowy and golden and wrapped around that slender black-clad waist. Gwen groaned, and Morgana felt her body tingle all over, their torsos pressed together so that she could feel the tightness of Gwen's breasts beneath her thin dress and her own hard nipples pressing against the rough lace. There was a tug on her hair as Gwen tangled her fingers in her curls, and Morgana growled into her throat, a sound that reverberated between the two of them, then she began to move more, both of them writhing and shifting together as their muscles contracted and their minds went blank, Morgana's eyes searing molten orbs and her closed eyelids cold as wet stone._

_ Now she slid her hand under Gwen's dress, undoing the woman's bodice, and now she was going deeper, further, losing herself in the other's body, lost to the scent of her, the shape of her, the visceral warmth of her. Her heart was burning, tumbling and burning, her whole body on fire and molten as she felt the earth-shaking waves of ardour flow through her. But then something seemed to shift, and even though she was so absorbed on the ground her watching sentinel self, eyes overhead, seemed to turn its gaze away, troubled. And then she was speeding off, her attention split and stretching to its limit so she cried out, and now she watched the dark desert plain and the adamant tower fly beneath her, speeding away, and now she was south of the tower, in the forest on the other side of the plain, and there were more tongues of flame in the darkness, more tiny, twined bodies lying in the underbrush, and she cried and gnashed her teeth in anguish as she got closer for then she saw who it was, and oh - cruel fate! Arthur's blonde form and the red cloaks of Camelot, Gwaine and Percival together, Elyan watching the night, Leon a little way apart, and then, twined together just as she and Gwen had been not moments before, the golden haired King of Camelot and his raven servant, that lanky, beautiful, slender traitor, interlocked with Arthur, the two of them inextricably bound to each other, two sides of the same coin, two equals that could never be parted. It was then that Morgana screamed, cried out and raged to know that her peace would be so disturbed, the fragile, momentary happiness between her and Gwen, the love that had so lately and so delicately blossomed out of a dark, dank, dead world. Back at their camp, she worked Gwen harder, kissed her deeper, more fiercely, but the distraction would not work and now the dream was dissolving, the comforting warmth gone and only the terrible truth remaining, the truth of their plight._ Morgana jerked awake, her breathing ragged and her eyes filled with tears, and found she had screamed the birds and sleep away and that Gwen was awake, awake, and terrified. And she knew right then that she could not bear to tell her the truth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually sinking beneath the weight of my work and this is the only thing I can be bothered to live for. Also Morgana has kinks.


	9. Hardship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The arduous journey continues. Can Gwen and Morgana's newfound partnership survive in such harsh conditions?

'What is it? What's wrong?' Gwen's wide eyes searched Morgana's face in bewilderment. Morgana was panting, her green eyes clear and terrible in her white face, her dishevelled hair tumbling about her as she all but sobbed. Gwen reached out to touch the tears on her cheeks, but Morgana turned away at the last minute and cast her eyes down, drying her tears on her own. Gwen frowned, seeing how Morgana pressed her lips together, avoided her gaze, struggled to smooth out her expression - what was she hiding? And why was she hiding it? Gwen drew back a little, unsure of what to do. She didn't feel she had a right to question Morgana; they had only been on good terms again for a perilously short time, and she didn't want to jeopardise their relationship in its early stages, not yet. What if she angered Morgana? No, she shouldn't agitate her. If Morgana was having nightmares that was her business - however uneasy she felt, Gwen would not pry.

Gwen sighed, also looking away and smoothing down her crumpled skirt. 'Shall we get going, then?' she asked, and Morgana looked up and nodded gratefully, seeming a little relieved. A shadow still flitted back and forth behind her clear eyes, though, and Gwen knew that her fear was not gone.

It was slow going, cutting a path through the impenetrable forest, and by night too - if they had not had Morgana's magic to guide them, they would have been lost long ago. The moon's wan light was their only illumination, since Morgana insisted on avoiding fires at all costs though they were utterly alone and in the middle of nowhere. Their skirts got in the way and ripped often, and not for the first time Gwen wished she had her old hunting clothes, her tunic and leggings and riding habit to keep her clear of the snagging thorns and brambles; but the forest did not let up, and she knew it would be some days yet before they left it. Mired as they were in rubbery rhododendron branches and twisted ivy, they spoke little, pressing onwards without respite, only pausing to catch their breath and drink a little from their water bottles. 

When the first light of dawn arrived, Gwen glanced up gratefully, the soft illumination trickling through the dense canopy like sand through an hourglass. But Morgana just kept going, and though Gwen felt she was starving, utterly exhausted, her weakened body pushed to its utmost limit, still Morgana pressed on, her eyes with that fierce, unreadable intensity in them that confused and reproached Gwen. Eventually the greenery was bathed in gold and the leaves verdant and rustling in a soft breeze, the endless roots and mud and carpet of skeletal dead leaves visible at their feet, and Gwen staggered sideways, clutching at a tree trunk for support, and sank down to the uneven earth, her eyes closing as she kneaded the stitch in her side. Morgana noticed her after a second, and turned around, frowning. Gwen's sleepy eyes met hers and seemed to be pleading.

Morgana recollected herself. 'Of course,' she said softly, and nodded slightly, somewhat absent-minded. 'Of course, you must rest.' She, too, sat down on the ground, holding herself upright and alert, somewhat surprised when Gwen's head dropped on her shoulder and the other woman nestled closer to her. For a second, she sat completely still, not daring to breathe - but then Gwen sank down even further so her head was in Morgana's lap, and the witch let out a long breath, and even allowed herself to smile slightly, raising a hand to Gwen's curls and smoothing them down, her hands trembling at the softness of that hair and the warmth of the body curled, cat-like, around her. To find herself so close to someone, so trusted and revered; it was something she had not dreamed of in years, something she suspected she would never have had in a million years had Gwen not come to her, had they not been reunited by fate in such a bizarre manner.  _ I forfeited all this, for power,  _ she thought, her eyes prickling somewhat. She had offered up her humanity in search of justice and retribution, and now, like a dove that had flown the coop, it returned to her and settled on her once more, the erstwhile companion, the prodigal daughter. Her heart seemed to tighten, her whole chest tightened, her face felt very hot -  _ what is this I'm feeling?  _ She felt she could not breathe, and convulsed slightly, her joy turning to terrible sorrow in a moment so that she tightened her hands in Gwen's hair and drew in a long, distraught breath. Why did such joy turn to such despair in a moment?  _ Perhaps I am mad _ , she thought, and shivered. Where once she would not have cared, now she found that she could dissociate no longer.  _ I am finally tied down, bound, captured,  _ she thought, looking hard at the head in her lap.

She must've dozed off, for when she awoke Gwen was up and about and rooting through their food bag for something to eat. She grinned when Morgana sat up. 'Breakfast,' she said, holding out something indiscriminate and unappetising. Morgana took it, and examined it warily, before sighing and digging in. When they were done they drank deeply from their water bottles, and Gwen pulled Morgana to her feet, smiling. 'Onwards?' 

Morgana nodded, and felt the frost of terror creep over her heart as she remembered Arthur and the knights on their tail. For a second all sunshine darkened, and she found she couldn't breathe, but then - 'Yes,' she said. 'Onwards.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this isn't longer - I'm currently on holiday in Japan, so it makes things somewhat difficult lol. Hopefully I'll upload at the normal time next Sunday, but we'll see :/


	10. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen and Morgana venture deeper into the forest. How will they cope with this frontier life? How will they survive, alone in the wild?

For forty days and nights they travelled: uphill, down-dale, thorough bush and thorough briar, through forest and fire and swamp and marsh. The tangle of trees turned to hills so steep they had to pull themselves up by the branches, sometimes climbing straight up through the floating arboreal world where there were no seasons, where the temperature was always the same, regulated by the impenetrable canopy and damp, absorbent ground with its chalky outcroppings; where time turned to leaves and leaves into flowers and flowers into piles of wintry rubble, snow catching on the uppermost twigs. Their dresses snagged, so they cut them down one night with a knife and bound them into crude trousers with ropes around their ankles, using the spare fabric to bind their blistered, splintered hands and tie up their hair so they looked (with their layer of grime and wild, tangled curls) like a pair of nomads, witches of the woods, gypsies on an endless pilgrimage. Their lips cracked and eyes dried, their natures becoming something different, stronger, tougher, more adaptable, like the thick-leaved ivy that twined around the trees. Their skin, too, became resistant, the poison ivy and patches of nettles immunising them to this amoral world, the only protection from sepsis and sickness Morgana's priestess lore which proved utterly indispensable in this ancient world, estranged from civilization. But it was true - this was Morgana's world, the one she had been born for, the High Priestess's role, and she found herself growing into it day by day, while Gwen found she was reverting back to her older self, the one that had been banished from Camelot and found favour in a mercenary's harem, the woman who had survived kidnap so many times. Her hair, now a spiralling afro bound up with strips of skirt, had lost all its queenly shine, just as Morgana had forsaken the smooth, straight locks of old in favour of rough, tangled curls that spoke of northern ancestry and were a deep, red-blue black like smoke. Both of them grew closer, and yet further and further apart; confidence and affection were lost, communication forsaken and unselfconscious intimacy embraced, an intimacy without joy or excitement or autonomy, something arbitrary, primal and thoughtless.

It was on one hot day when the wood seemed to burn and buzz with heat, the whole world vibrating before Gwen's itchy eyes, that she remembered something she had not recalled in a long time, something important. Stumbling upwards, she caught on a branch and slid painfully down a steep patch of earth and scree, her legs buckling and her hands scraping along the rough bark. Morgana stopped and looked back, turning around silently and squatting on a fallen tree trunk, her eyes glowing like lamps in the dim forest light. Gwen drew in a deep and shaky breath, rubbing her eyes and hauling herself upright onto the branch. Hugging her bruised ribs, she murmured, 'Where are we going?'

Morgana looked up, startled. She had all but forgotten that that question even existed, since Gwen had long since ceased to ask it. She opened her mouth to answer, then paused, realising she had none. Gwen looked at her expectantly, miserably, and Morgana realised too that she had not looked in Gwen's eyes in weeks; not properly, at least.  _ I have been deceiving her,  _ she thought, estranged from her own mind.

Gwen found she had stumbled (literally) on a moment of rare clarity. She thought back, and remembered a time when all she had done was ask questions, and be refused an answer. Morgana looked like some odd, feral tree creeper to her now -  _ how must I look? An overlarge bushbaby?  _ Looking down at her earthy hands she knew it to be true, and recoiled slightly, taking stock. Then she tasted the rank inside of her mouth, the layer of crustation on her teeth, and another wave of misery washed over her as she saw what she'd become.  _ No wonder she wants nothing to do with me,  _ Gwen though, looking up.  _ I am ugly as a bear, and she a wild thing.  _

Morgana felt something stir within her as she looked back on Gwen. She saw the strips of dirty flesh visible through Gwen's ripped-up gown and knew that once she would have cared, have noticed, blushed and been excited; _ maybe I still am _ , she thought, after a moment recalling herself. She was so used to her own bestiality now that she had no sense of separate self, had forgotten the fact that she was one, that Gwen was another, that both of them were human beings. A bitterness overcame her, then, her old elevation flooding back.  _ I used to be intelligent, wise _ , she thought, with a twinge of hatred and dissatisfaction.  _ Why did I give up all that power?  _

The answer came to her, finally.  _ Emrys. _ Emrys she remembered now, the sorcerer born to bring her low, and a shiver travelled down her spine so she convulsed and visibly curled. Arthur was coming, and with him Emrys, Emrys, his shadow and protector, the mysterious figure in the mists. Arthur and the knights, following them; so she had fled, and had forgot, and had endeavoured to run from all of that. But she had been born and raised with Arthur, a high lady, and Gwen a queen, and now she knew she could not let go, that it was impossible for them to leave that life behind. She had lied to Gwen, for love, but if she forgot and did not tell the truth about their endless flight, she lost herself and love as well - and that, she could not bear.  _ I came to this place to be with Gwen, and now I must tell her the truth, if I am to retain my humanity and save us from sinking into oblivion.  _ She had to save their spark from the abyss, to keep them from eternity, retain ephemerality and brave the troubles of normal, non-vegetable life. It was up to her to retain that life; that shimmering, shining, internal world of beautiful crystalline chaos. And so she sat, sat properly, untucked her bits of rucked up skirt, and, facing Gwen, she opened her lips, and spoke, saying, 'You want to know where?' 

Gwen sighed, coming out of her reverie, and nodded, climbing up next to Morgana. The latter sat a little straighter, remembering her old posture, and said, 'I don't know. The truth is, I don't know where we're going. Ultimately, it's not about that - if was never about where we were going, Gwen.' Gwen raised her questioning, fawn-like eyes, the liquid brown irises narrowing.

'What do you mean?' she said mistrustfully, and Morgana took her hand.

'I have a vague idea, of course - there's a sea to the north, beyond the mountains, a good place where we can be safe. But I might have lingered nearer civilisation or taken more straightforward roads if it hadn't been for the threat that hangs over us.' She felt her chest tighten, heavy of heart, and watched as Gwen's frown deepened, her lips twisted with queenly concern. 

'What is it? Morgana, what's wrong?' 

Morgana found herself strangely overcome. Although she had not expected it, her eyes suddenly stung with tears and she turned away, her voice soft. 'Arthur,' she whispered, unsteadily. 'Arthur is coming after us.' Gwen's brow creased, the tips of her eyebrows rising and a spiral forming on her face. She seemed to grow to a terrible size, returning to her royal self.

'Why did you not tell me before? How long have you had this information? How long did you know? Whence comes this intelligence? How could keep something so momentous from me?' 

Morgana shrank back at the torrent of words. She shook her head, backing away. 'I couldn't, couldn't tell you Gwen - it was too soon, too far away, I needed to keep our happiness safe, I didn't know how you'd respond, I wanted to hold you in my arms - oh, Gwen!' But Gwen did not let Morgana near. She moved aside, her bright eyes flashing.

'You betrayed me, you, again! What happiness did you preserve? This hell, this purgatory is all that I have left in all the world, this endless wood, the endless walk - at least I thought I walked to something, besides this hurt, this obstacle! Get off me!' she cried as Morgana reached out, then retracted a hand, crippled as if burned.

'No!' she shrieked, and sobbed, and then, reaching out for Gwen one more time, she tried to grab ahold of her arm. Gwen almost resisted, but then, with just as much force and suddenness, she yielded, throwing herself into Morgana's arms and sobbing. Tears poured down her cheeks and she wept into Morgana's breast, burying herself in the comfort of the scratchy lace and soft cleavage, the warm, rounded femininity. Morgana held her with much surprise, her arms tightening the longer Gwen sighed and choked and convulsed, her grip crushing Gwen to her so that soft stomachs and slender waists and rich bosoms melded together, a wonderful, mutual warmth spreading throughout both of their bodies. They fell from the branch and tumbled, rolling down and down and down the slope at a frightening speed, an exhilarating speed, sliding painfully over sharp stones and picking up dirt and dust as they went so that eventually they were covered in muck like wild animals of the forest and clawing at each other, scratching each other, biting and digging nails in like a pair of beasts in the rough warmth of the leaf litter. And then once again they returned to cradling, and now Morgana was stroking Gwen's tangled hair lovingly and their eyes met with a mutual intensity, their lips joining a second later so that a sublime, liquid heat spread through them both, their bodies pressed together and never still, never entirely stationary. And when at length they had drunk deep of each other's draught and could come up for air with impunity, their eyes opened and faces parted and there was something alive and crackling and clearly defined between them that set their hearts hammering and made their eyes hot, something without end or beginning, something inexplicable and transcendent, an unfathomable ecstasy and incalculable sorrow bound up together in threads of shadow that left them utterly, completely breathless. And so they returned to themselves and remembered each other, and found great joy and great despair in the truth of their situation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from Japan and super jetlagged - sorry this is a day late, love you all!


	11. On the Banks of the River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen and Morgana reach a river, and find themselves at a crossroads. Morgana's dreams disturb her once more, Gwen's feelings shift and evolve.

They followed the line of the valley until they reached water, then found a place in the riverbank to shelter for the night. The waters flowed swift and dark and deep, forming a considerable obstacle -  _ we shall follow the line of the river until we can cross _ , Morgana decided. If they were going to reach the sea then that might be a good place to start, since sooner or later they had to reach an estuary. She didn't know how far north this sea was, how long it would take to get there or whether they would encounter people on the way; the forest seemed deserted, so as long as they stuck to the woodland and the mountains she felt it was unlikely they would meet any strangers.  _ No doubt Arthur has put a price on my head,  _ she thought with trepidation and more than a little hatred - but then, Arthur had enemies, too. If worst came to worst, she could call in the old favours owed to her, loath though she was to re-establish her own criminal links.  _ Gwen would not like it _ , she thought correctly, and frowned, chewing her lip.

As night fell they washed in the river, stripping off their tattered clothes and plunging into the icy water. It was a welcome relief to be clean, and though they had no soap with which to truly cleanse themselves Morgana was able to heat sections of the river with magic and conjured up scrubbing brushes for the two of them. They found some parsley and mint growing wild and used the crushed up leaves on their armpits and necks and between their legs to perfume themselves, chewing a little of the herbs as well to sweeten their breath. At last, cold and naked and clean, they arose from the river, splashing each other and screeching like children. They used their cloaks as towels with which they rubbed themselves down and covered up, soaking their clothes and underwear in the water too and hanging them up to dry on a tree branch. It was chilly weather and the sky lowered overhead in a leaden block of cloud, their skin coming up in sharp goosebumps as they shivered side by side and tried to warm themselves by the fire. The remnants of the day vanished in a streak of wan gold, leaving behind the dull blue glow of twilight, and then, at last, the oppressive, clouded black of night, the moon drifting in and out of shadow, a big yellow oval that hung low in the sky. 

Morgana huddled closer to the blaze, the flames flickering in her glassy eyes, her dark hair drying in fierce whorls around her face so that, not for the first time, Gwen wondered if she really was human and not some divine avatar come to walk the earth and mete out justice. The firelight danced over her pale skin, revealing expanses of bare flesh left to the open air, glimpses of hard muscle and a fair, tough complexion striped finely with silver scars, remnants of her dark past. Gwen felt a sudden overpowering urge to take that cold, immobile tigress in her arms, to smooth down and tug on the raven hair, to clasp her arms tight around those jutting rubs, to squeeze the slender waist and tangle with the long, slim legs till they were tusselling gently, lovingly, like animals. She could see Morgana's peaked nipples through her dark cloak and felt the interior of her mouth moisten as she traced the line of Morgana's body through the cloth, following that curve over and over with her eyes, biting down on her lip as she imagined Morgana holding her in her arms, caressing her, kissing her. It was a while since she had had the time or energy to think of such things, but now that she dwelt on it she found it made her feel almost sad, the depth of her own feelings touching on despair. And so she turned away, unwilling to let that vulnerable, dark part of her out yet, getting to her feet and donning her mostly-dry clothes as Morgana poked the fire, then covered it over with turf, smothering the flames to stop the smoke and light giving them away.

They lay down side-by-side, cautiously inching closer for warmth. Gwen felt the exhaustion settle over her in a blanket of bone-deep aching and icy drowsiness, Morgana almost unconscious the minute she hit the floor. As an afterthought, Morgana slung an arm over Gwen's waist and pulled her closer, closing the cold gap between the two of them and burying her face in Gwen's hair, Gwen gently pulling their two cloaks tighter around them so that they seemed like one two-headed body rather than two separate beings. Enveloped in each other’s warmth and scent, they lay, secretly, greedily cherishing the feeling of the other's body, hiding their selfish desire in sleep. But it was not to be a peaceful night, it seemed - for once again, Morgana's dreams hunted her down that night, pinning her in place and paralysing her with the truth. 

_ She and Gwen were entangled once more, twisting on the ground and shifting together, faces pressed close and hair forming a deadlock of tendrils around them. Morgana watched from above as those tendrils extended, turned into coils that curled around them till they were wrapped up tight, cocooned and covered and imprisoned in a crushing grip, Morgana herself helpless to stop the shadowy veils of hair that bound them. It was not Gwen's hair, only her own, oily black and glistening, writhing like Medusa's snakes. Suddenly Morgana yearned to yank all that lovely hair out, to chop it off and hack it into harmless pieces, to destroy her own coronet and cast it down like Samson and Delilah. She knew in her heart that all the evil that enveloped them originated with her, the poison that ensnared them a part of her, her power weaving the same impossible web as her hair around both of them. Despair and darkness engulfed her, the knowledge of her own corruption bringing bitter tears to her eyes. _

_ _ _ Now she was rising though, flying above herself and Gwen who returned to the normal two points of golden light, and soaring southwards, through the thick fence of shadows. She felt the winds blow backwards and knew in her heart that the further she retraced her steps, the further back in time she would end up, the closer to her past. There it was, the endless forest, a dark and shifting creature with no fixed form. She felt its enormity and anonymity even from so high up, and shivered, counting herself lucky to be among the stars and not those trees. It was then that she discovered that if she reached out either side of her she could touch those stars, which were clustered around her, pale orbs just hanging in the air - it was beautiful, dazzling, wrong.  _ The stars should not be so close,  _ she thought, perturbed.  _ Their distance has been disrupted.

_ _ _ It was then that she felt a deep sense of consternation, and swerved, heading even further south. At last the mountains ended and the forest petered out, and there it was, after so much time - that hated desert, the hard packed plain with the pinnacle of black piecing the centre, the tiny, menacing tower like the leg of some glistening insect. Morgana felt hatred and pity for that place, the place where she had been so petty, so small, where she had behaved so childishly. The wide open forest was a far better setting for her and her power, the place she had been destined for, and she saw that now - towers could not contain magic such as her own. No, she had been foolish, and so it was with little or no dread that she descended, examining the tower from closer to.  _

_ _ _ At first, all seemed dark, dull, ordinary. Then, however, she saw there were points of light inside it, and her heart stopped, for she knew who those points of light were, who they must be. She watched, petrified, through a window as the knights climbed the tower stairs, as they fought her enchanted sword, as Elyan was slain. She felt a shiver of satisfaction and sorrow go through her as she realised that she was replaying the past, that although she had not seen it this had happened months ago, perhaps a week after she and Gwen had departed. That made her start, though, for then she knew with a sinking heart that they must be followed, that Arthur in his tenacity would have tracked them into the forest. But the forest was her friend now; she understood its ways and wiles, and let it be, for it would cover her trail as sure as she would survive its hardships. Somewhat reassured, she settled in to watch the rest of the past play out.  _

_ _ _ They left the tower, carrying the body of their dead friend, and camped out for the flicker of an eyelid. She watched as two set off home with their dead comrade, leaving Leon, Arthur and Merlin (that pathetic servant) to enter the forest. At first, she was sure of their failure - it was impossible to find a path through the forest without magic! - but little by little, her mood darkened, as she watched the woods open up for them, the secrets somehow laid bare so that, to her mystification and outrage, they managed to follow her. It took them a long time, of course, but then it had taken her and Gwen a long time, too, and the two groups could not be more than a week apart. The thought made her blood run cold. The mountains had deceived her, lulled her into a false sense of security, and now she paid the price for her arrogance. Desperately she clutched at Gwen, back on the ground and holding her tighter, squeezing her almost, crushing the breath from her in an effort to stop herself from losing her while all the time those three steady flames approached, coming after them with relentless consistency, never tiring or slacking off, their doom hot on their heels.  _ The despair of it all made her whimper and sob, so she woke herself up once again, though thankfully not Gwen. When she blinked awake, she found the blue light of dawn was already coming through the trees, striking the dark waters of the river. And then she hid her face in her hands, for it was too terrible for words.

She shook Gwen gently to wake her up. The other woman seemed deeply asleep, for she moaned in protest and curled in on herself, burrowing into the crook of Morgana's arm in an attempt to return to the warmth of slumber. Morgana smiled slightly in spite of herself, though her face was pale and her eyes filled with fear. She sighed deeply as Gwen yawned, stretched, and mumbled, 'What is it?' 

'It's light - we should get moving,' she murmured, getting to her feet and helping Gwen, whose eyes were barely open, to stand too. They washed their faces and necks in the river, the icy water waking them and stinging sleep from their skin, and then, filling their water bottles, they laced up their broken boots. But then Morgana said something unexpected. 'We'll take the river as our path today.'

Gwen frowned. 'What do you mean?' she asked, suspicious. Morgana looked at her with strangely empty eyes, her face glowing. 

'We'll walk in the water to cover our trail. It'll lead us to the sea, with a bit of luck. We just have to follow the main body of water, and if we wade through it then we'll be in no danger of discovery.' She stepped down from the bank into the freezing flow to demonstrate. Gwen looked confused, somewhat sceptical, but then she sighed, and followed Morgana, stepping down onto the riverbed. The water sent a bone-deep chill thrumming through her, and she gritted her teeth, hitching up her skirts. Morgana glanced at her and felt a pang of sorrow, guilt at putting Gwen through such a thing - but then she shook off the feeling, for Gwen could do whatever she could do, and it was no great hardship if it protected them from Arthur. If need be, they could go back on land further downstream, but for now they would do this, and see where it led them;  _ as long as it's away from Arthur, it'll be good enough _ , she thought with a little trepidation. And so they set off, wading downstream as the sky turned a chilly blue and the weak sun came up over the damp, dark forest, winter's bite in the icy air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeet


	12. Downstream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana and Gwen brave the perils of the river, and encounter an unpleasant surprise once safely ashore. As their passion and interdependence grows, they must fight for the love that they cherish above all.

Gwen reached for a tree branch, stumbling as she did so. Her foot slipped and she cried out, clinging to the root for dear life. The water was up to her chest and she shuddered, kicking back against the current with all her might in an effort to regain her footing. Morgana turned round and waded back upstream towards her, wrapping one arm securely round another slimy, black root poking from the bank and reaching out to Gwen with the other. Their hands met, slipped, and met again, then at last Morgana got a good grip on Gwen’s forearm and hauled her forward, catching her in her arms and lying flat against the bank so they were out of the pull of the main current. Panting, Morgana held Gwen while she got her breath back, stroking her hair as the other woman’s breathing calmed. She felt the firm earth at her back, the solid, reliable rock and heavy damp soil, and at last she could breathe again. Exhausted, they closed their eyes, reassured by each other’s warmth.

At length, Morgana opened her eyes. Gently moving apart from Gwen (though she held onto her tightly nonetheless), she said, ‘Well...what do you think?’ Gwen looked up, her weary eyes roving over Morgana’s face. At last she let out a tired chuckle.

‘I think it would be best if we got out now,’ she said, and Morgana nodded. ‘After all, we haven’t seen anyone this whole time, and if you’re afraid of Arthur, believe me when I say I doubt he could track us this far. He’s an idiot - he has no idea where we are, mark my words.’ They both laughed at that, though Morgana’s smile faded quickly. She sighed, and swallowed, nodding again with conviction.

‘You’re right. I’ve been wrong to be so scared; we can’t let fear take over.’ She frowned, her fierce eyebrows dark in her pale face. Turning around, she tugged on the root she was holding, testing its strength. ‘Here?’

Gwen nodded. ‘I’d rather not spend any longer in the river,’ she said with a shudder.

Morgana tucked up her skirts and bound up her hair, wrapping the end of the root firmly around her waist. ‘Hold on tight,’ she told Gwen, and the other woman nodded, hooking her arms around the witch’s waist. Then, planting her feet firmly on the side of the bank, Morgana began to climb, hauling herself up hand over hand, her face red with the effort. Gwen squeezed her eyes tight shut as she listened to Morgana’s grunts and sighs, sick to the stomach thinking of the drop below. There was a rending sound that came from above, and Morgana paused, and Gwen heard her whisper something under her breath. Then they were moving much quicker, ascending with ease, and at last, Gwen opened her eyes as Morgana clawed her way over the edge of the drop, rolling to safety and lying on her back.

For a second, they both lay there, eyes closed and breasts heaving. Gwen felt the solid ridge of the earth at her back and sighed with relief, expelling all her tension and nervousness in one breath. Morgana, too, relished the muddy feel of the buried rocks and tree roots beneath her, the surety and safety of dry land reviving her after so many days spent submerged in the icy water. She felt the spine of the land pushing up the grass beneath her, the scratchy, ticklish texture of the beech mast and dry leaves and pine needles, and let out a sigh that was more of a sob, overwhelmed by her own relief. Gwen rolled over onto her side and opened her eyes, examining Morgana’s face tenderly. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and Morgana cracked open an eye, then smiled ruefully.

‘It’s fine,’ she muttered. ‘I feel fine. Thank  _ you _ .’ And even though her words meant almost no sense, Gwen thought she caught her meaning.

The two of them lay there for a long time, and so exhausted were they that at some point, they actually drifted off to sleep. The light had changed by the time Morgana jerked awake, from the high blue sky and soft white sun to the long, slanting golden rays of evening. She sat bolt upright, waking Gwen, and swayed, a frown forming on her face. ‘What time is it?’ Gwen looked at her in dumb surprise, absently extricating leaves from her dishevelled hair. For a moment, they held each other’s gaze in confusion, and then Morgana cursed, stumbling to her feet. She swayed, and doubled over, coughing, her stomach growling. Glancing around distrustfully, she muttered, ‘We’re...hungry - we must have food.’ She looked down at Gwen again, and her absent-minded expression looked almost accusatory, though Gwen wasn’t sure why. She rummaged through their bags, finding nothing and shrugging.

‘We’ll have to hunt,’ she said, resigned, and got to her feet, but Morgana stopped her, halting her speech with a finger on her lips. She motioned for silence and the hairs on the back of Gwen’s neck prickled as she stopped and listened, the two of them stock still and silent as the grave. There was a long moment where they heard nothing but the odd burst of birdsong, seemingly distant and oddly shortened - and then the birds seemed to squawk, and alighted from the trees, and the air seemed to thicken.

‘Gwen,’ Morgana breathed softly, but she was cut off by a sound, a sound that made her blood run cold. There was a soft crackling through the trees, and then a louder stamping, the snort of horse, a slight clink such as heavy pieces of metal might make. Morgana went white and tense all over and Gwen caught her mood, the terror in both of them petrifying their bodies. Slowly, almost unconsciously, they backed away, edging towards the bank with mutual, wordless agreement. Morgana’s foot caught on a root and she let out a soft, startled squawk as her back hit a tree, the sound quiet but loud enough to be a canon shot in the unnatural stillness. Gwen winced, and Morgana caught her eye, murderous anger and pure fear in her gaze. And then, as those footsteps came even closer and the two women knew with terrible certainty that their pursuers were only just beyond that clump of bushes, then they dropped over the edge of the cliff, and, holding onto whatever they could grasp, slid down the bank in a painful rush, coming to rest under an overhang at the water’s edge. There was a sick feeling in Gwen’s stomach as she stared down into the water that now came up to the top of her boots, the shallowness of current perpetuated by the little alcove in which they stood fortuitous but, as she well knew, anomalous - if they had to move along the river, they would be back in waist- and chest-deep water, freezing, swirling black water, a strong undertow and current trying to drag them down, the crumbling bank and slimy tree roots their only security, the riverbank no doubt exposed further along so that they were trapped in this small stretch. She closed her eyes, hardly breathing, and reached for Morgana’s hand, the other woman’s bony fingers returning a crushing grip.

Suddenly, soft voices sounded above them. Both women froze, their hands so tightly clasped that both knew the other was cutting off their blood supply, their bodies as stiff and quiveringly still as if they were in rigor mortis, their breath held. The voices were incredibly close, almost directly upon them;  _ they must be at the top of the bank _ , Morgana thought with dread. She remembered their bags and felt hopelessness seize her, and at that exact moment a voice that was unmistakeably Leon’s murmured, ‘Your majesty,’ and there was a rustle as someone rifled through their belongings. A thrill of cold terror pierced Morgana’s heart as she heard that next voice, the voice unique and distinct from the hate she bore it, a voice that made the cold fury rise in her stomach so that she had to actively suppress her magic lest she give their location away. Arthur spoke, and Gwen went utterly still, and tears of ire pricked Morgana’s eyes, and all he said was: ‘Merlin?’

Gwen’s heart turned to stone. She could have laughed, the hysteria coming over her in a second.  _ Of course the first thing I hear him say in months is that _ , she thought, and could have wept. For Arthur, it would only ever be Merlin - then why should she not have her Morgana? A tear rolled down her cheek, and she gripped the witch’s hand even harder, feeling that already her love was slipping away from her.  _ We have had so little time together,  _ she thought, pleading.  _ Let us alone, Arthur, please; you have all the time in the world. _ She looked across at Morgana beside her, and had to control the overpowering urge to kiss her, to hold her, to have her - oh, she was so scared of losing her! Morgana felt Gwen’s eyes on her and turned, and Gwen saw that in those beautiful, emerald eyes matching tears glistened, the despair and hopelessness there matching Gwen’s own. And Gwen frowned, and squeezed Morgana’s hand even tighter, nodding firmly to her. And although she did not speak, Morgana understood her perfectly:  _ we will get out of this situation. We will survive. We must _ . And so the first of her tears fell, and she could hardly tell if they were tears of sorrow or tears of joy.

Desperation overcame her. Turning slightly, Morgana ducked inside herself and looked with her magic. She saw Merlin and Arthur and Leon above them, the leaves and bushes all around, and, deliberating, carefully picked a spot a little way behind the men, then made the ground rustle as if from a footstep. The three men turned, but for some reason Merlin frowned, and remained close to the edge of the bank. Still, Arthur motioned to the others to be quiet and began to follow Morgana’s hoax, so she continued, desperately shaking a bush further on, and then another, and another, almost exhausted from the effort of controlling her magic while she was so on edge, ignoring the urge to just blast them to oblivion till they could hurt her no more. And then, just like that, the three men were gone - they moved off, and Morgana breathed out ever so softly, and could have cried from relief. Gwen took a moment to grasp her mood, but when she understood she smiled slightly and, not quite daring to believe it, whispered, ‘You saw them off?’

Morgana nodded, tears pricking her eyes and a genuine smile spreading across her face for the first time in a while. ‘Are you alright?’ she breathed, stroking Gwen’s face, and the other woman nodded, also smiling.

‘I’m fine. You?’ Morgana nodded again, and though both of them knew that they weren’t strictly speaking the truth neither cared, for in that moment, their relief was so great it overcame them, overwhelmed them, and as Morgana’s tears finally slipped out she kissed Gwen so that the saltwater landed on the other’s cheeks, their lips meeting softly, passionately, the warmth of each tongue sliding over the other moving throughout their bodies and seeping into their toes so that even the icy water could not freeze them. Still they did not let up, moving closer, Gwen’s hand tangling in Morgana’s hair and Morgana pushing her up against the bank, one hand on her waist, the other cupping her cheek. Gwen wanted her, so badly, and Morgana could not even begin to think of the extent of her own burning, flaming desire, the flammable light that emanated from the both of them, igniting in the air around them and bringing them back to life. But then, just as they were in the midst of their passion, just as they both began to let their guard down fully there was a crack of twigs above them and they burst apart, gasping slightly, their eyes flying open. Gwen slapped a hand over her mouth and Morgana squeezed her eyes tight shut, but it was no good - the rustling continued, and Morgana had no time to figure out who was coming down before there were footsteps a little to their left as someone descended the bank. Morgana backed up, ushering Gwen behind her, both of them ashen-faced, pressed up against the bank, still holding their breath. And then, there he was; it was Merlin, of course. The stupid servant had somehow stumbled across their hiding place, though his master was gone and the knight too.  _ How did he get so lucky? _ Morgana thought, enraged. They were utterly silent as he faced away from them, and then - and then - he was turning around, there was no time, and Morgana felt the fury and desperation tighten around her heart as he faced them. Raven hair, blue eyes, lips about to open, to give them away, to betray their hiding spot -

Morgana’s eyes flashed a ferocious yellow as she raised a hand and flung Merlin away from her, so that he was forced backwards and hurled into the air a yard off the ground, landing further upstream. His head hit the ground and he rolled into the water, and for a strangely terrible second, Morgana thought she’d killed him - but no, he was alive, only...unconscious. She turned to Gwen, swallowing, and the other woman understood her panicked look, so together they waded over to where Merlin lay in the water and lifted him off the ground, dragging him between them and carrying him as far into the forest as they dared so they could put Arthur off their trail. His hair was wet, so unless Arthur took all day to find him it would be obvious he had been moved;  _ no matter _ , Morgana thought. As long as it bought them time to get away it was worth it.

They waded across the river to the other side and sat down on the bank. So Merlin had been sent to collect their bags - he had been holding one, the one that Morgana now cradled to her. She knew they had to move off, so did Gwen, but for now that were unable to do more than cling to each other and breathe, their hearts still hammering. Over and over again Morgana kissed Gwen’s hair, and Gwen sobbed against her chest, soaking Morgana’s bodice with her tears. And then they were kissing again, neither seeming to move and yet both vibrating with passion, their tears mingling on each other’s cheeks and their tongues sliding over each other, a heat building in both their bodies, their cheeks flushing and eyes brightening beneath tear-stained lids, hands clinging to hair, to waists, to napes of necks, eyes pressed together too at times just so they could feel the saltwater on each other’s eyes, drinking each other in, breathing deeper till they were in a trance-like, wanton state, till at last they broke apart and, in the shelter of the dusk and the knowledge of fragile, temporary safety, claimed each other. Morgana watched as Gwen sat up on her knees and unbuttoned her bodice, bit by bit, sliding it off her shoulders to reveal that golden, unmarred skin, the chocolate curls tickling nipples that hardened in the cool air, Morgana feeling how wet her mouth became when Gwen undid the laces on the back of her dress so that she, too, emerged, her moon-white fledgling skin all the more beautiful for its absolute purity, the little mole at her shoulder and the small of her back so gorgeous that Gwen could not resist kissing her there, kissing her right in the hollow of her pale, glowing back, kissing lower, dragging her lips over the goosebumps on her buttock and catching the soft flesh with her teeth so that Morgana gasped. And then, with an overwhelming surge of joy, Gwen plunged into the shadows at the juncture of Morgana’s hips, eliciting a long moan when her tongue met that willing wetness, plunging inside with long, unhurried kisses that made her own body tremble and Morgana’s shake, the latter’s torso pressed up against a slender tree trunk for support, her hands ghosting over her breasts while Gwen felt herself grow sodden.

Morgana came, and came again, and Gwen came too, moaning into Morgana’s warmth. She stood up, facing the taller woman, and Morgana looked down at her with tears and fire in her eyes, an intensity of emotion too strong to name. Their lips met again, their tongues pushing deeper, technique sloppy, Gwen dragging on Morgana’s gorgeous black curls so that the pale woman growled into the other’s mouth and buried her face in the juncture of her shoulder, kissing her there and biting down into the flesh to leave a mark, kissing her collarbone, her breasts, running her tongue over Gwen’s dark nipple and sucking on it so Gwen groaned loudly and Morgana grinned and nipped at her skin, running her teeth over the curves of those ribs and then moving back up so she was face to face with Gwen, her lips twitching with a hungry smile. She cupped Gwen’s face, running her thumb over the other’s lip, and Gwen took Morgana’s long fingers in her mouth and sucked, swirling her tongue around them and earning herself another weak moan. Morgana withdrew her fingers and trailed them over her sternum and then, in a sudden burst of emotion, she flung her arms around Gwen again and pressed her to her, drinking in the light fragrance of her body. Gwen smiled into the crook of her neck, and bit her just above her armpit in response. Morgana laughed, and they kissed again, sitting down on their spread out cloaks and bedding and stretching out on their sides until Morgana rolled on top of Gwen and straddled her, squeezing her waist with her sinewy thighs. Gwen laughed, but it turned into a gasp.

‘What’s so funny?’ Morgana murmured in Gwen’s ear, teasing at the skin with her teeth. Gwen squirmed as the warm breath tickled her, and chuckled. Morgana was insistent, and returned to Gwen’s mouth again, covering her lips with her own while she trailed a hand down the centre of the other’s torso, taunting Gwen with soft touches that circled round her broad areolas and trailed over that sensitive nub, circling lower, below the navel, until she brushed up against that mound of thick, curling hair. Gwen hummed into her mouth and Morgana chuckled as she felt her wrap her legs around her waist in an effort to move her fingers closer to that spot, the place where she was wettest. And indeed, when Morgana slid her fingers lower she found a glorious molten slickness, and circled slowly around it, relishing the feel against her fingertips. Gwen whined softly, her hips slightly undulating then bucking whenever Morgana felt like hitting that spot - but at last, just when she was about scream in frustration, Morgana slid inside, tucking her fingers into that fold and feeling the divine warmth sucking her in. She began to buck her own hips as she moved on Gwen’s thigh, simultaneously sliding her hand in and out and pressing down on that particular, inner spot as Gwen cried out in pleasure, her head thrown back and her cheeks flushed. Morgana felt her pulse thudding at she struggled to maintain her slow pace, clinging onto the last conscious part of her mind as she tried to coordinate her movements, feel the liquid furnace within her as the flames built, grinding on Gwen’s leg. They kissed again, ever more sloppily, and now Morgana lifted Gwen’s other leg up and held it over her head, stretching those agile limbs as they panted and moaned as one. And then, just as she felt she could bear it no longer, Gwen cried out and sighed, a high, keening whine that set Morgana off, too, a squealing sob making it out of her throat as she sighed into Gwen’s shoulder and the two of them came, Gwen squirting a little onto her hand. And then they lay there, catching their breath, and moved apart for a bit, returning soon enough; for the delight and ardour they both felt flare up within them and burn a little brighter could not bear for them to be parted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...okay, so some of the tags on this fanfiction are incorrect and overly dramatic, since this ain't a bdsm fic, however...man, the drama. ;) leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed, I wanna know your thoughts


	13. Civilisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana and Gwen venture into a town in search of provisions, evading the cold bite of the approaching winter. How will they fare upon returning to civilisation? How far have they come from their origins, and where will they go now they are so close to freedom?

They fled along the riverbank with far more haste from that day onwards, keeping to cover, sometimes creeping along through the waste-deep water in the shadow of the overhang, other times weaving in and out of the birches and ash trees and blending in with their dirty, ragged clothes and grimy skin acting as camouflage to keep them hidden. From time to time they heard voices, shouts, the barking of dogs and the hammer of hooves a little way off and knew the search continued, speeding up or slowing down in accordance with the proximity of the noises. Their hands became permanently intertwined like two branches that had crossed and grown together, now inseparable from each other so that it was painful even to be a yard apart, at night seeking sanctuary in the comfort of each other’s bodies. But they were not distracted by the initial euphoria of new love as they had been all those months ago when they had left the tower, for now they were settled in their bond, closer than before and less flighty, unquestioning of each other’s love. They moved slowly on the sly, twisting and turning under a dove-grey snow sky that became more threatening everyday, the cold in the air intensifying so neither woman could feel her toes and only Morgana's magic kept them from freezing, at a push. Soon the river was so cold they could only travel by land and shivered in their tattered clothes, regretting the warmer months they had spent ripping up their skirts and sleeves.

It was on one particularly freezing day when the frost glittered in the air and on the dead leaves underfoot, when the mud froze into hard whorls and puddles of ice and strips of pale cerulean sky showed through the stratus, that things came to a head. Though they had had hints of Arthur lately they had not met with him again and had begun to throw him off their scent, and now Morgana knew that her brother expected them to starve or die of cold in the woods, and realised, too, that they must rethink their plan. After all, they could not stay in the wild like this, not when the forest turned against them - they must find shelter, warmth, new clothes and food, she decided. And so it was that on this morning when their teeth chattered and their breath formed crystals in the air the two women took a sharp detour up the steep side of the valley, in the hopes of finding a town. They climbed the ridge slowly and steadily, using branches and creepers to pull themselves up where the ground was so icy or so covered in leaf litter that they could find no firm footing, sometimes crawling over the mud. Soon Gwen's lungs burned from gulping down the icy air, Morgana too feeling the effort of the climb in her numb legs, but still they kept going, for they knew that the mountains had ended some time ago and these were mere hills, precursors to the coast; they would reach the summit before midday. The sun rose higher in the sky but provided no warmth, the long shadows of the trees retaining patches of frost here and there, and by the time they began to come out of the trees and the ground flattened out Gwen's ears were bright pink and frostbitten and Morgana's face was whiter than ever, with two red spots from the exertion of climbing.

Clutching the stitch in her side, Gwen hauled herself onto the top of the ridge. Morgana sank down against a tree, closing her eyes temporarily, exhausted. But Gwen woke her instantly, pointing to something in the distance. 'Look!' 

Morgana rose, worried it might be Arthur, but instead what she saw was quite different. There, not twenty miles from where they stood, stretched the open ocean, a flat expanse of silver and cobalt beginning with the broad, sandy estuary and opening out into an endless horizon that was lost in sky. Morgana drew in a deep breath and smiled with some effort; they were close, not a day's journey away. She turned to Gwen and put an arm round her and the other woman grinned, leaning in for a kiss. When their faces met their lips were cold and the hot breath plumed from their nostrils like dragons, spiralling up into the endless air.

They parted, looking down once more. A curl of smoke rose from between the trees and they could see rooves, houses, towers;  _ we could reach it by nightfall,  _ Morgana thought. And so, squeezing Gwen's hand in hers, they set off again, following the line of the ridge down, inching over ledges of rock and crawling past the steepest drops on hands and knees. Now they were out in the open they were more exposed but they had the advantage, too, since they could see everything for miles around and at times Gwen even thought she caught glimpses of the red cloaks of Camelot far below and was thankful they had left the river bank. The feathered ranks of bare branches began to lengthen with stripes of shadow as they descended at last, trudging steadily down the slopes that led to the cove that was their final destination.  _ I suppose we'll get a ship from here _ , Gwen thought, but the thought seemed oddly unreal and far off. It was nightfall by the time they crouched at the edges of the forest, surveying the fields, the road and the bridge to the castle like two wild beasts.

They watched for an hour or so, the odd peasant cart rumbling by as the townsfolk returned to their homes for the night. Very few people passed them by so by the time they emerged they were somewhat more confident, hands still tightly clasped. Morgana's eyes glowed like phosphor in the cool dusk, a low, misted green that contrasted the fiery gold and red beneath Gwen's brown, a warmth like autumn leaves. They drew their hoods low over their faces and tried to make themselves presentable, though they hardly remembered how. It was only here, now, on the outskirts of civilisation, that Morgana realised how far they’d come and how they’d strayed from the conventional path; she felt a swooping sensation in her stomach, as if she was standing over a very long drop.

They had a few options which Morgana went over in her mind as they approached the town. They could look for an inn outside the castle walls in the hopes that it would afford them more anonymity and safety, then either beg, borrow or steal some new clothes from in there to change their appearance; equally, if the townsfolk knew of Arthur’s search they would be torn to pieces, since there would be nowhere to hide in a small village inn. They could also go up to the castle and seek refuge there, however they would have to come in the main entrance and Morgana was sure the guards had been alerted by Arthur of their presence, so they would rouse suspicions by their entrance, no doubt, perhaps even be captured. On the other hand, the castle had more shadows in which to creep, more places to hide, things to take - it might be their best chance of a quick get away, if the guards were lenient and let them in. The last option, and the least favourable, was to throw themselves on the mercy of some villager, knock on their door, hope to be admitted and pray for mercy. It could go either way of course, that might be their best chance, but Morgana felt uneasy about trusting strangers in such a way, for there was a wealth of things that could happen to them if they ended up at the wrong house and being handed over to Arthur was only one of them.

It was a cold night, perhaps the coldest yet, the shadows a rich, velvet indigo that retracted its claws every now and again when challenged by the flickering light of fires and lamps and candles. There were no torches set into the walls either side of the castle gate and instead of a drawbridge the castle had a more permanent wooden bridge;  _ we are in luck, then _ , Morgana thought, a gleam in her eye. She squeezed Gwen’s hand and they hurried through the darkness toward the gatehouse, climbing the motte and crossing the deep ditch over the little wooden bridge. Gwen tensed as they neared the entrance, Morgana assessing their surroundings, searching for potential weapons, feeling for her magic. There was a little door in the wall beside the closed portcullis, and it was to this that they turned, knocking quietly and holding their breath.

There was a noise within but the door did not open, so Morgana tried again, louder this time. The guards inside went silent and there was a scrape as a bench or chair was pushed back, then a voice. The spyhole opened revealing a male face. ‘Who goes there?’

Morgana pulled her hood low over her face and hunched down, making herself as small and unthreatening as possible. ‘Travellers,’ she said timidly, and added, ‘who have been robbed on the road.’ She added a slight sob to her voice for effect and the man frowned, wavering. There was suspicion in his eyes and Gwen’s grip tightened on Morgana’s hand even more, so that she was cutting off her blood supply. Morgana felt her heart racing and a twinge of frustration needled her;  _ I do not need you to tell me to be scared, Gwen _ , she thought. The night seemed to be closing in and suddenly she could not breathe -  _ what is this feeling? _ she wondered, strangely anguished. Gwen seemed to feel her sway and turned, alarmed, but it was too late - Morgana tumbled to the ground, collapsing in an instant with no warning. Immediately Gwen was on the floor, on her knees, feeling for Morgana’s pulse, calling out to the guard.

‘Please,’ she said, her pleas in earnest. ‘She needs water, she’s exhausted.’

It was that that clinched it, ironically enough. The guard nodded, opened the door, and together he and Gwen carried Morgana inside. Her pale skin and beautiful hair clearly caught their attention for the men gathered round, entranced, Gwen feeling a little stab of jealousy at this. But then they laid Morgana out on a pile of cloaks and covered her up with another one, and Gwen sank down by her side and held her hand and smoothed her silky tresses off her face and gave her water when water arrived, unwilling to move though she, too, was shattered. She thought about how far they’d walked all day, how far they’d come beyond that, since the mountains, since the start of the forest, since they’d left the dark tower, since she’d left Camelot, and she felt her head spin with the weight of it all. The Morgana lying there bore enough resemblance to the one of ten years ago for the soldiers to admire and wonder at her, but she was a different creature altogether and Gwen knew it - the woman who lay on that pile of cloaks had lain in the dark for two years without moving, without seeing; the woman who lay there had raged and grieved and suffered too many times, and then, after all of it, she had managed to redeem herself through love, her broken heart beginning to mend.  _ How does she do it? _ Gwen wondered sleepily, envious.  _ How does she reinvent herself? _ For all that Gwen had changed over the past year as well, really her love of Morgana had always been there, her impatience with Arthur and with Camelot, her desire for adventure, for freedom. Nothing really had changed for Gwen;  _ my life goes round in circles, repeats itself _ , she thought despondently. She smoothed her hair down under her hood and cast a surreptitious glance at the guards behind her, still playing cards, draughts, chess, still talking and laughing and casting glances of barely restrained suspicion and curiosity at the two strange women.  _ I am sick of men _ , she thought, flaring her nostrils in disgust.  _ All they is gape and grasp and gabble. _

Eventually Morgana woke up and, without a word, allowed Gwen to help her through to another room. They staggered through the stony halls in silence, leaning on each other, following the maidservant sent to greet them.  _ Is this a trick? _ Gwen wondered bitterly, Morgana also wary of the hospitality they were shown. Somehow she didn’t think it was a trick, but she knew, too, that when Arthur found out they were here - and he would, no doubt that very night - then they would become the prisoners they might already be. As soon as they could get rid of the maid, they barred the door to their room with all kinds of stuff and rummaged through every chest and closet, finding clothes enough, though not perhaps the most appropriate wear; the gowns and robes enclosed within the wardrobe were fine stuff, the sort of thing the two of them might have worn a year ago, ten years ago, but not now, not in the midst of a frozen winter when they needed to escape. Frustrated, Morgana flung herself face-down on the bed and screamed into a pillow and Gwen watched her, silent yet concerned. Morgana had said nothing of her collapse and Gwen hadn’t asked, but it hadn’t been fake - Morgana had really passed out.  _ What is going on _ , she wondered, sorting through the clothes.  _ Why does everything feel so weird all of a sudden? _

‘Found them!’ Morgana exclaimed in triumph, and Gwen snapped out of her reverie to see her lover brandishing two thick, padded doublets, pairs of lined hose and long shirts and breeches. Gwen smiled and, for the first time since that morning, kissed her, remembering the sweetness of the other woman’s lips and wondering why they had seemed so estranged. Emboldened, they took apart their barricade and called for hot water, hot food too, all of which was brought by the same maidservant;  _ so what if she is spying on us _ , Morgana thought as the door closed, and gave in to her urge to kiss Gwen soundly on the mouth, surprising her with her fervour. They undressed each other slowly, lovingly, running their hands over the planes of each other’s bodies, smoothing down hair and stroking the line of each limb with loose fingers, and when they were naked they climbed into the bathtub together, remembering that first time in the tower when Gwen had boldly demanded a wash. The dirt that they had borne for months dissolved off their bodies as it had not had the chance to in a while, their hair loosening and the water turning darker and darker as they kissed the grime from every crevice of each other’s body, relishing the warmth of the water. Gwen ran her hands through Morgana’s wet hair, pulling on the snags, and Morgana growled into the sensation and pounced on her beloved lazily, drawing things out indefinitely until the water was cold and they leapt into the first bed they had seen in months.

By the time they were done their food was almost cold, so they dressed hastily in the stout clothes they had laid out by the fire to warm and ate their meals like hungry animals, ravenous, famished, greedily licking every last drop of sauce from their plates. When they were done both sighed, satisfied, the rich fare almost too much, and Gwen planted a wet kiss on Morgana’s willing mouth and remarked, ‘Much better.’ Morgana laughed.

‘Don’t you miss the forest mushrooms?’

Gwen snorted. ‘Don’t you miss the featherbed?’ She stood up, the male clothing she wore strange to her after months in effeminate rags, years without ever once wearing a pair of trousers. She rooted around under the bed for a bit then pulled out a bedpan and, taking the tongs from where they hung beside the fire, filled it with hot coals, tucking it under the covers afterwards and smoothing the counterpane over lovingly. 

Morgana watched her, pensive. After a while, she spoke and said, ‘Do you miss it that much, then - civilisation?’ Gwen turned slowly, caught out by the question.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said, shrugging. ‘I mean, I never thought we’d spend so long in the forest, but I got used to it…’ A strange expression crossed Morgana’s face and she turned away from the light so she was bathed in shadow, startling Gwen. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing,’ Morgana said. ‘Nothing at all. I’m exhausted - let’s sleep, and then we can climb out the window tomorrow morning and run off to the beach.’ She yawn, got up and climbed into bed, curling up on her side like a stray cat and falling asleep almost instantly. Gwen removed the bed pan and followed her lead, lying down, soon consumed by Lethe and lost to the world. But Morgana stayed awake, for she had never truly slept, and, as a last thought, barricaded the door again, using her magic to move the furniture.  _ Sleep tight, Gwen, _ she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late (well worth the one day wait though). Tell me what you think - I think this is coming to an end soon, which is sad...


	14. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana and Gwen are on the run once more. Time is running out, their plan is foiled at every turn. How will they escape from the tightening net?

They were awoken early by a banging on the door. Morgana got up instantly but did not speak, Gwen jerking awake but unable to quite process things, so deeply had she been asleep. The only light on the horizon when they looked out the window was dim and blue, a narrow streak just above the waves, and the two women shared a glance when they noticed this;  _ there can only be one reason behind this interruption,  _ Morgana thought ominously. She crouched, thankful for the supplies in the room and fully dressed after sleeping in her fresh clothes, levelling her eyes on the door and making sure the barrier was secure. Gwen brushed her hair hurriedly and packed up what little they had left lying around, watching the doorway out of the corner of her eye.

The thundering grew louder, an endless, relentless hammering that knocked about their sleepy skulls. ‘Open up!’ a rough voice order, and even though she didn’t hear it Morgana added mechanically in her head  _ by order of the king. _ Arthur’s rule did not extend this far but clearly hatred of magic did, and it was not long before she knew there was no other for them to escape than out the window. They were only one floor up but even that, in a castle, was inconvenient, and when Gwen flung the shutters wide she found the drop dizzying and had to blink away her vertigo. Morgana hurried over to her, still watching the door.

‘Quickly now,’ she murmured, helping Gwen to knot the bedsheets together and make a rope, securing this with magic to the windowsill and letting Gwen swallow her fear and through this erstwhile escape route out into the open. Then she was tugging on Morgana’s hand and Morgana, so reluctant to go and yet so scared, finally agreed to leave just as they heard the door begin to give, the two of them hooking their legs over the stone windowsill and swaying with a bout of nausea as they looked at the long way down. This wall of the castle hung over the lowlands that led to the beach so it was taller than the other, and Morgana prayed above all that the rope would hold as she lower herself down, dangling for a second right at the top as she tried to get a firm footing on the wall. Gwen looked on her with terror.

‘Can’t you take me with you yourself?’ Morgana shook her head, frowning.

‘It’s impossible. We’ll both have to abseil - quickly now!’ There was panic in those green eyes and Gwen felt the full force of her fear-driven anger, grabbing onto the rope and closing her eyes tight as she began to descend. Morgana found her descent was steady but her feet kept slipping in the boots she had donned, a little too big for her, and every time her mind wandered in anxiety for Gwen or fear of Arthur or thoughts of the future she stumbled and her knuckles went white as she dragged on the rope, the knots between the bedsheets straining. She even felt her fingernails rip through the fabric at one point and clenched her fists, sucking in a shuddering glance and closing her eyes as she kept going. Above her, Gwen squeezed her eyes tight shut and tried not to look down, but it was impossible - every time she heard a sound from below her her heart plummeted and she believed, just for a second, that Morgana was gone, dead, broken on the rocks. Just to appease these fantasies she had to look down, but then she lost her footting and flailed wildly, knocking Morgana around below her and feeling her sweaty grasp slip down a few painful inches, giving her hands a sore friction burn. She ground her teeth so hard it hurt, tears slipping out of the corners of her eyes. This was no good - she had to get down, the quicker the better. And so, breathing deeply, she continued her descent, kicking off the wall bit by bit until she was past the halfway mark.

It was then that the trouble began. They heard noises from above and knew that their bedroom had finally been broken into - and it was only a matter of time before the attackers would see the open shutters and the rope and cut the rope off, for surely they wouldn’t care if the two women were dead or alive. That was how Gwen thought, at least, and began to panic and half-tumble down the rest of the way, but Morgana below her knew in her bones that Arthur would never risk Gwen’s life like that, that he would much rather lose her again than lose her forever. And so as Gwen struggled down faster and faster and came closer and closer to falling Morgana slowed until Gwen was right above her, whereupon she grabbed the other woman by the waist and slid the rest of the way, rolling out of the drop with a thud when they hit the turf below. Morgana felt her shoulder crunch and flinched at the pain, Gwen turning over and getting up, apparently fine, but so shaky she could barely stand up straight, stumbling around dizzily. Morgana sighed. There was no time for this. She grabbed Gwen once more and dragged her off, into the cover of the woods, not stopping for the other woman to get her breath back and running until her own lungs burned for lack of air and her legs could no longer hold her. Then she collapsed on the ground in the cover of a low-spreading tree, cradling Gwen to her who began to sob, stroking the other woman’s hair and murmuring to her as she leaned into the searing pain in her shoulder.

They were a sorry sight just then. Gwen babbled away, murmuring in a terrified, fluttering, choked-up whisper, ‘They got us, they nearly got us, we fell, we’re going to get caught, they’re going to take us away and lock us up, they’re going to pull you limb from limb, they’re going to lock us away without light or food in the dark with only screams and sobs for company and ghost -’ Morgana’s hearing sharpened at that, and she realised Gwen was tumbling into a traumatic flashback of the tower, though she had no energy to do anything about it. She just continued to helplessly stroke the other woman’s hair and feel the tears of exhaustion well up in her own eyes as she listened to Gwen spiral, as they other woman began to choke on her tears and sob so hard she was screaming, loud enough for all to hear, falling forwards and straining all the cramped, curled muscles in her body as she retched on the ground, the tears dripping off the end of her nose in a constant stream and her face contorted and red where she coiled up in dirt, unable to stop. Morgana all-but fell asleep, listening to Gwen’s cries, feeling the pain in her shoulder, lying there in utter defeat and a strange kind of doomed tranquillity.  _ I wanted to go to the sea _ , she thought faintly, then shook her head. It was almost impossible now. Not when they were like this. They would just have to hope for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say


	15. Beneath the Constellations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen and Morgana hunker down for the night. They find themselves opening up to each other, talking of things long gone, the secret depths of their pasts. Underneath the starry night sky, amidst the pine trees, they grow even closer.

They crept through the woods all the rest of that day, keeping to the shadows and underbrush, clinging to the patches of dense tree cover for all it was worth. Strangely enough, they did not find themselves pursued far - presumably Arthur had not arrived yet, then, given that he was probably in one of the neighbouring towns or they would have been dead by now. It was hot in the parts of the forest where the trees conserved the heat, the earth still frozen beneath its damp upper layer but the boles of the ancient oaks trapping what little warmth could be found so that, what with their new winter clothing and the effort of moving quickly and being constantly on the lookout, Morgana and Gwen found their cheeks flushed and their breath steamed, their skin cool but their muscles hot. Both could feel the sweat trickling between their tightly interlocked fingers, their greasy hands slipping until they were gripped so tight it hurt, their wrists twisted as they half-crawled through the nests of vines and intertwining branches that were their only protection from the watchful eyes of the enemy. Morgana's breathing grew more and more ragged the longer they went on and all she could think of was that time was running backwards, turning against them and its natural current and dragging them back into the clutches of Camelot, the shadow of the past she had fought so hard to escape. The more she struggled and railed against fate the tighter its noose closed around her neck, binding her hands and feet and mouth so that, like a wild animal hounded into a trap, she could only rage and roar and despair of her existence. _Maybe if we had met in another time, before the Great Purge,_ she thought desperately, squeezing Gwen's slick palm. _Maybe if we had lived a different life, free from the constraints of class or past or cruelty. Maybe if we hadn't been us_. But she could not think that way for long and she knew it, for if she tried to forsake her past then so she forsook everything that bound Gwen to her, all their love and history and loyalty. Without that, they were nothing - had their love always been as doomed as it had been inevitable? She doubled up and sobbed out an exhausted breath, clutching a stitch with the same hand that still held Gwen's so that the other woman stumbled into her and asked her if she was alright, concerned.

Morgana hardly heard her. Looking up and turning around so fast she almost collided with Gwen, she took the other woman's face in her hands and kissed her passionately, drinking in the taste of her, the scent of her, the feel of her, drinking her dry, imprinting onto her. She didn't ever want Arthur to have Gwen back, she didn't ever want to give Gwen up, the sweat on her eyelids turning to tears as she forced her air-starved lungs to hold on a little long while she lost herself in Gwen's lips, that welcome, wanton wetness, the velvet softness of her skin. Eventually Morgana tore her mouth away and gasped for air, closing her eyes and pressing their foreheads together with hands tight on either side of Gwen's face, the other woman perplexed but sharing her sentiment, her ardour, her despair. _You have been so valiant, my love,_ Morgana thought, crying harder._ I have put you through so much and you have been so brave._ Gwen watched as Morgana's pale brow crinkled and reached up to smooth that frown away, reaching for her tears too, soothing her hot cheeks with her cool touch. When Morgana at last opened her eyes there was hopelessness in that grey-green gaze, hopeless as the shallow, shifting waves that scoured the shore ahead of them. Gwen fixed those eyes with her own golden-brown stare, and said, 'We keep going,' in a voice that was firm, ungiving, undaunted, certain. Morgana nodded, swallowing, and so they crawled on a little further, staggering through the birch copse until at last they felt the air cool and the sky darkened overhead. It was only then, after the sun had sunk behind the sea and they had stumbled into the deep shadow of a spruce thicket, that either of them dared to give in to their jellied legs and aching muscles and frozen feet, stretching out underneath the low-spreading pine branches on the soft, star-like moss and at last letting go of each other's hands. Too tired to speak, Morgana simply watched the forest around them, observing how the vibrant green of the sphagnum moss acquired a phosphorescence under the indigo influence of night, how the world was so dark and so far from civilisation that the stars were just as bright as if they'd been in the midst of the mountains with not a soul to bother them. The galaxies overhead swirled and reformed before her exhausted eyes, the light dancing and refracting off her tears so it streaked her line of sight and lit up all around, illuminating Gwen with a halo. It was then that Morgana noticed that the other woman was also awake.

She sat up slightly, leaning on her hand. 'I'm sorry about earlier,' she began falteringly, and Gwen listened to the lilt in her voice dreamily, shaking her head.

'I don't mind,' she said, and then, 'I'm just glad I get to be with you - that we're together.' She sighed softly, but Morgana heard it and reached for her hand. 'I feel - it feels strange,' she added. 'Like I'm living in two different worlds, torn between them. On the one hand, there's Camelot - material, mundane…so normal that returning to that castle felt like - oh, I don't know, it was just so…odd. Not having lived like that for so long, I felt - simply put, in those surroundings I was a different woman altogether. And that…that frightens me, because Morgana -' and here she looked into Morgana's eyes and made sure they were watching her - 'this world that you have brought me too, this wild place that we have discovered - I do not want to lose it. I do not want to lose who I am now, I do not want to forget. I want to stay like this forever, never change.' She examined Morgana's face, smiling fondly, sadly, then said, turning serious once more, 'And I won't hear any ifs or buts; I want to be with you…forever. If I have to run for that, if I have to flee my whole life just to be with you, if that is what it takes, then I will do it. No questions asked, no turning back. You are all that matters now,' she added, another soft, sorrowful smile seizing her. Morgana squeezed her hand, shifted closer so her head was against Gwen's heart. They watched the stars for a little longer, tracing that map of milky markings and speckled light with their eyes, and then Morgana spoke.

'Gwen,' she said softly, an invocation. Gwen looked down at her and kissed the top of her head, enquiring. 'Gwen, do you remember that time we were kidnapped by bandits?' Gwen cocked her head on one side, then nodded. 

'Well, how could I forget,' she said frankly, then gave a soft laugh. 'I had to impersonate you to survive.' Morgana smiled slightly, examining Gwen's hand where it rested in her own.

'Do you remember how scared we were?' she whispered, looking up, her pale eyes vulnerable, open, fragile. 'Do you remember how I had to do that stupid thing to get away, fleeing in my shift, and you - I thought I'd lost you.' Her voice caught and she glanced down again, tears dancing in her eyes. 'I thought - I couldn't believe - they said you were dead,' she went on, barely breathing the words. 'So I screamed at - at - at Uther,' she muttered, stumbling over the name of her father, her old enemy, 'and I screamed at Arthur and yelled at them all - I called them cowards, and can you believe, I didn't even know how true it was back then -' they both chuckled softly. 'And I swore I would have you back or have my revenge, I really did.' She glanced back up and Gwen smiled at her and stroked her hair. 'I felt so bad for leaving you, so terrible, so worthless, so cowardly -' 

'But you're not,' Gwen interrupted softly, firmly. 'You could never be a coward, Morgana Pendragon. It is they who are the cowards, they who kept your throne from you, they who silenced you, they who slaughtered your friends and fellow sorcerers.' She stroked Morgana's hair again, massaging her scalp, feeling those soft, black curls beneath her fingers. 'All that you did, you did in good faith, back then - you were so beautiful, so brave, I didn't know how I'd ever live up to you, how I'd ever be worthy of you.' Morgana sat up and turned around, her gaze urgently seeking Gwen's, their hands still intertwined.

Staring intently into Gwen's eyes, she said, her words full of purpose and meaning, 'But you must understand, you're so far from unworthy, Gwen. You mean everything, everything to me - you have been my guiding light, my salvation, always, always,' she added, her voice cracking, falling to a whisper, as fresh tears ran down her cheeks. Gwen smiled, her eyes red as well, and leaned forward to kiss the salt from Morgana's cheeks, adding a kiss on the end of that pale, pointed nose and then leaning in for one on those lips, a kiss that Morgana gladly returned. Their lips opened up and they seemed to draw life from each other, the strength and courage flowing between them and glowing brighter than ever, their hearts purer than any stream and truer than any steel. And then they broke apart, Gwen curling up in Morgana's embrace this time and drying her tears on the other woman's shirt front, burying her face in the warmth of her breast right next to her beating heart. Morgana was so alive, so agile, so tangible beneath her that she thought her heart might break from happiness. They were close to sleep once more when a thought popped into Gwen's head and, though she waited awhile for it to go away, eventually she had to ask.

'Morgana?' she said softly, and felt the sorceress shift beneath her. 'I'd been meaning to ask…I know it's a bad thing to want to know, but…what do you see, when you encounter the mandrake root?' 

Morgana stilled beneath her. Gwen shifted, looking up anxiously into Morgana's face, but her beloved seemed more thoughtful than disturbed. It was a long time before she answered. 'Initially, I used to see Arthur, hanged,' she said softly. 'I never really wanted him dead, not at first - it was only Uther I hated. Then, after a while…after I lived with Morgause, that is - I used to see more…I saw the bodies of others. I saw Morgause burning, Mordred burning, the witch finder coming after me - I saw you burning, too.' Gwen shifted, raising her eyebrows in surprise and grief. Morgana saw her expression and laughed half-heartedly. 'Then, eventually, I saw…' She sighed, shifting so that Gwen sat up and faced her. She had gone this far - she would have to tell her.

'I've had many prophecies, Gwen - that's what my old nightmares were. Many of them frightened me, if not all. But the one that's always frightened me, the one I'm still running from…' she took a deep breath, glancing round even though they were alone. Her eyes when she turned back to Gwen were frightened like she'd never seen them. 'I dreamed of a great sorcerer, an old man, skeletal, robed, powerful. I dreamed of Camlann, of a mighty battle, of crows picking at the remains of both knights of Camelot and mercenaries alike. The sorcerer walks through the battlefield, searching, and then - and then -' she sniffed, breathing a deep, shuddering sigh - 'I see him standing over me, over my dead body. And I know from the bottom of my heart that that man will be my doom, my destiny.'

Gwen was silent, wide-eyed, perturbed. Softly, matching Morgana's frightened tone, she murmured, 'And who is this man?' Morgana shook her head.

'I know so little, I know almost nothing…only that his name - his name is Emrys,' she whispered, and Gwen's eyes widened, searching Morgana's face. For a second, Morgana waited, watching for some sign of recognition - but Gwen clearly had as little idea as she had of who this man was. She sighed, exhaling all her tension. 'That is what I see when I partake of the mandrake root. That, and the pit that Odin locked me in.'

Gwen reached for her, folding her tightly in her arms. 'Well, you're free now - you never have to be scared again,' she breathed, pressing her face into Morgana's hair. 'We'll run away, I promise you - we'll defy them all, defy destiny itself. I pledge myself to you that no harm may come to you till the end of your days.' Morgana smiled slightly, letting out a long breath. 

'We should get some rest,' she said at last, so they lay down under the starry sky and curled up beside each other, sheltered by the pine boughs. As they were drifting off to sleep, Gwen tightened her arms around Morgana's waist.

'I love you,' she murmured. 'With all my heart, for all eternity.'

Morgana took a long time in replying. At last, she said, 'I love you too, Gwen - I will love you till the day I die.' And so they slept beneath the spruces, slumbering while the world turned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the penultimate chapter - I finished the final one this week. It's been so great doing this, I hope you enjoy, please leave comments and kudos if you like it and tell me your thoughts. What would you like to see next from me?


	16. The Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, Gwen and Morgana reach the sea. Have they evaded Arthur successfully? Where will they go from here?

When they awoke the sky overhead was a washed-out blue, sunbeams lancing through the low forest cover and piercing the impenetrable gloom where they had rested, where now a crackling frost reigned. Morgana shifted and found her hair and eyelashes and eyebrows had all stiffened with ice, fixing them in place and dusting them with diamond so that, as she observed when she looked at Gwen, too, they looked simultaneously regal and ethereal, ancient and withered like white-haired winter queens. She felt how sore and bruised her whole body was, how numb her skin even beneath all those layers of clothing, and began to shake, rubbing herself all over ever more vigorously to get her circulation going and trying unsuccessfully to move her dead legs. Gwen, too, awoke at her touch and squinted in the brightness, her teeth chattering as she came to. Morgana shivered, dusting dew from her sodden cloak. They shared a look, sleepy-eyed, loving, frozen, and surged closer, huddling together in a fumbling rush in an attempt to get warm, staggering forwards and crawling into the nearest patch of sunlight. Morgana wished there had been snow, for then they could have piled the drifts atop each other and let the blizzard keep them warm, but frost and ice and seeping damp was exactly the kind of weather one caught pneumonia in, or even worse, hypothermia. She watched the pine needles drip onto the thawing ground and shuddered, suddenly afeared once more of the terrible power of nature, a sick dread in the pit of her stomach replacing the warmth that had glowed there the night before. She pulled Gwen to her feet and began to walk very fast, dodging in and out of the woodland chiaroscuro while the other woman struggled to keep up, yanked onwards by the painful grip on her wrist. Gwen was reminded unpleasantly of when Morgana had yanked and dragged her all the way to the dark tower, though she knew this time it was done out of love, at least. 

It was not long before they were starving. At first it was no more than a dull ache in the pit of each of their stomachs, but soon it grew and ballooned into a pregnant gnawing, carving out the lining of their insides bit by bit so they could not ignore it. Soon the feeling was so intense and sick-making, the feeling of acid sloshing around inside them and leaping into their throats so unpleasant, that they had to stop and Gwen even retched a little, bringing up nothing but sharp, acrid bile. She gritted her teeth but Morgana stopped, bid her sit, and retrieved some stale bread and leftovers from their meal the night before yesterday. They ate quickly, ravenous, but the sustenance was soon gone and after an entire day without food this meagre snack was not enough, not for Gwen, at least - Morgana had become used to not eating, after so many years on the run. She thought back to that life now and felt how dangerously close she was to it, how she teetered on the edge of sanity, how near she was to reverting back to her old ways. _How can I be?_ she thought, distraught, but there was no answer; perhaps she had not changed at all in the past year, perhaps she had not reformed or improved or grown as a human being. Perhaps she had done no more than usual, abusing her magic in selfish pursuit of her wants and as a basic way of surviving constant persecution, fleeing from all kinds of accountability. She squatted down on a tree stump and leaned forward over her knees, her clear, opal eyes unhappy, her shoulders hunched.

Gwen watched her lover, absent-mindedly tucking her hair behind her ear as she observed how pale Morgana had gone, how bloodless her lips and how hooded her eyes, how fierce and bold and dark her eyebrows as she bored holes in earth with her burning, miserable gaze. _What can she be thinking of to make her so unhappy?_ Gwen wondered, knowing that there was a great many things it could be but knowing, too, that there was nothing she could do to reach Morgana when she was like this, nothing she could do to persuade her to have hope. _I cannot touch her when she is there, so far inside of herself, so alone_, Gwen thought, close to tears. She sniffed and wiped her nose and Morgana heard, turning around with those limpid eyes like a wolf on the scent, watching as Gwen hastily turned away. 'What's wrong?' she asked, but Gwen shook her head, so she abandoned the question and stood up. 'We should get going, if we want to see the sea while it's safe.' She sounded despondent, pensive, but Gwen's heart still leapt at the thought of seeing the great green oceans up close. Smiling, wiping her eyes and grabbing Morgana's hand, she looked back over her shoulder at her and then set off, this time tugging her witch after her, haring down the hill through the tall spruces.

The forest was thick and dark for some time, the upper layer comprising only conifers, the lower layer smothered by ferns. Swathes of bracken sprang up around them, curling tendrils of red-brown and bright green that reached as high as their shoulders, great fractured leaves that let off a kind of gas, a pungent mist hung with spores of fungi that shimmered in between the trees, glowing when the sun struck radiance into it. They waded through this arboreal sea more and more slowly, pushing on and on and placing their feet carefully on the wet, muddy, icy ground, here and there warped by rocks or low, spreading mushrooms that were slippery enough to make them pause. Overhead they glimpsed the bright blue sky through the needles, the fir cones silhouetted in solid black against the cerulean like shadow puppets, the rough bark of the trees forming an uneven, uniform lattice before them that seemed to go on forever. Soon the land seemed to grow flatter, though, the bracken dying down to a rustle at their ankles, the trees tall and then thinning out, replaced by low oaks and tangled elms, thorn trees blown by the moorland wind, prickling gorse riven with sprays of golden blossom that exploded into pungent scent when brushed by, the bracken leading into heather and scrub, the earth changing so that the soil went from mud to grey grit and from light grey grit into something softer, something shifting, a soft, butter-yellow sand that gave beneath Gwen's shoes. And then the land was gone and before them rose mountains and hills of sand topped with marram grass, an empty, endless, desert nothing.

Gwen stopped short, frowning. 'Where's the sea?' she said, and Morgana laughed.

'Just over those dunes, silly,' she said, and then, 'here, take off your shoes.' They did so and ascended the steep, sliding ridges barefoot, the wind whipping the wet grit against their legs. Morgana bent down to roll up her trousers, pausing while Gwen went on ahead, and as she did so she happened to look behind and saw something that stopped her very heart. For there, weaving in and out of the dark forest, darting down the mountainside in flashes of red and silver and brown, mounted riders moved, creeping undercover of the trees, advancing by the second. Those cloaks were cloaks of Camelot, she knew it in her bones - Morgana gripped her hands into fists, fists so tight her knuckles went white and her nails cut into her palms, leaving little half moons of blood. Her face drained of colour, her eyes and lips too, and she stared at the ground heedless of the sand that the breeze blew into her eyes. It_ cannot be_, she thought, her heart squeezed so tight in her chest that she thought it might burst, her eyes burning. Panicked, she reached for her inner eye, sweeping the surrounding lands with her magic, retracing their steps up the hill. But then, when she reached the summit of the ridge, she saw him - crouching over her tracks, over Gwen's footprints, quietly, meticulously, pedantically following their trail, a hunter after his quarry, his ever loving servant at his back also searching, creeping down the hill. They would be upon them within the hour, Morgana knew. And suddenly a wave of pure, unadulterated grief swept through her, a wave of sorrow against which she was so powerless, so defenceless, that she staggered, reaching for a clump of grass to hold herself steady. But the sharp grass did no more than to slice her palm and she felt the pain, and looked down to see the blood welling up between her fingers. The feeling seemed to wake her. She got to her feet, picked up her boots and, with a new light in her eyes, an unreadable, shining light, ran down the dune and onto the beach. 

Gwen was standing there, waiting for her, staring in awe and fear at the sea. She turned around when she heard Morgana. 'Where were you?' she said, squinting in the sandy breeze. 'Thought I'd lost you.' Morgana smiled quickly but did not reply, shielding her eyes and looking along the shoreline. At length, she turned back to Gwen.

'My Lady?' Morgana offered her hand and Gwen smiled and took it, the two of them running down the beach together. Gwen marvelled at the texture of the sand beneath her feet, the way it turned from soft and dry to solid, smooth and swept into tiny ridges by the sea, hard as a concrete and then sucking and waterlogged like a strange kind of mud. It was then that they reached the water's edge, Gwen looking down to see the little eddies and bubbles that rested in runnels in, Morgana's cold fingers squeezing hers even tighter. Gwen looked up in trepidation, shying away from the great, open body of water before her. Sighing, she shook her head ruefully and shivered. 

'I don't like it - there's too much of it, it's not natural. Morgana, I - I don't think I can.'

Morgana did not laugh, only thought for a second. Then, an enigmatic expression on her face, she said, 'How about we play a game, just in the shallows - blind man's buff, say. Then you won't have to actually look at it all but you can get accustomed to the feeling on your feet, and I can keep you safe.' Gwen frowned at Morgana, finding the proposition somewhat strange. In the end, she agreed.

'Alright - don't stray too far, mind,' she said, and Morgana smiled. Taking off her scarf, she tied it around Gwen's eyes as a blindfold, knotting it carefully at the back of her head. Gwen put out her arms for balance, getting used to the sensation, and inhaled the scent of Morgana coming from the scarf. After a while, she said, 'Alright - I'm ready. Tell me if I'm hot or cold,' she called out as Morgana retreated.

'Cold,' she said at length, pulling up her trousers so they did not get wet. Gwen turned slowly in the direction of her voice, feeling in the sand for her footing and starting forward. Morgana dodged to the side, repeating her call, and Gwen moved, then cried out and giggled as a pale wave broke over her foot. She hopped about for a second, moaning at how cold the water was, and Morgana allowed herself a small smile as she listened to her, a lump coming to her throat. Gwen lurched forward, crying out again. 'Warmer,' Morgana announced slowly, retreating so the tide broke against the backs of her knees. Gwen frowned, huffed in frustration, and waded deeper, waving her arms about. Morgana felt her calves begin to numb and moved sideways, back towards the shore, sidestepping Gwen though she was very close. This time, she wasn't honest about her location. 'Hot,' she said, though she was already a little way inland. Gwen followed her voice more slowly, feeling that Morgana must be close by. Morgana ran further, then sat down at the edges of the dunes to put in her boots. 'Getting hotter,' she called, using magic to throw her voice so she seemed not a yard away from her lover. Gwen frowned and stamped her foot, getting impatient, crying out in frustration.

'Where are you?' she said, but there was no reply. She spun around, disconcerted. 'Morgana?'

'Warm,' Morgana whispered, her voice as soft as the wind. 'Getting colder.' Her boots now on, she took one last look at Gwen through a sheen of tears that seemed to turn everything to starlight, fracturing the sea into a thousand tiny pieces. There were voices behind her in the woods - she had to go now to live, or stay and die. Turning away, she ducked into the darkness of the forest, weaving her way uphill, veering off to the south away from her pursuers, running, hiding, losing herself in the tree cover. Eventually, she reached the top if the ridge, coming out onto the edge of the moorland. When she looked down, she saw the cloaks of Camelot safely close to the beach, far away from her, close enough to Gwen that the other woman would come to no harm. _She will be safe with him,_ Morgana told herself. _She will be safe, and cared for, and happy_. 

Her cold, white cheeks stained with tears, her dark coils of hair whipping her in the face, Morgana gazed down on the tiny figure of Gwen. And then, with a sigh, she turned aside, and began to walk. And when at Camlann, when she journeyed to the Isle of Avalon, when she learned of Mordred's death, at all of these moments she would think of Gwen, and her heart would stop. And Gwen would never know, for they would never see each other again; the last Gwen heard of the witch Morgana was when a messenger came from Emrys to speak of her death, the last time Gwen ever thought of her.

Arthur would find Gwen on the beach. Gwen would be confused, resistant, tearful; eventually she would grieve in silence, fall ill, clutch Morgana's scarf to her and refuse to move, to eat. But then, after a time, her mind as well as her body would return to Camelot; she would sit in the council meetings once more, oversee the running of the court and town, assist her husband in matters of state. And never would she speak of what she had lost, what she had given up - and never would she be asked to tell her story, so that, in time, her silence would be complete, so complete that it seemed the silence of death, nothing left of her love but the susurration of the waves in the wind. For her heart remains on that beach, in the far north, at the edge of the wild, open ocean, and will forever stay there, buried in the forest beneath a blanket of frosted pine needles, dug into the wet, white sand under a semi-clouded sky, cerulean streaked with silver, mother-of-pearl presiding over an endless horizon of deepest, darkest sapphire, shattered cobalt extending as far as the eye can see while at the water's edge, where the land meets the sea, a clear, grey-green laps at the earth, glassy, turbulent, salty with tears, emerald irises staring back at her through a haze of light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys - it's been a good one, sorry if I made you sad, it had to end like this. Please feel free to comment and leave kudos if you liked it, and also comment any requests you have for other fanfics and fandoms and I might write them. Until next time xx

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is my first biggggggg fanfiction so I apologise if updates are spaced out, this year is gonna be busy for me. I always loved dark Morgana and didn't understand why people never wrote this sort of stuff, so here it is! Comments and love would be much appreciated xx
> 
> Edit: I made a playlist for this fanfic here is the link https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4YtePn1IoWL5W1mzvUchlz?si=MiFz8KvsSiWq2QtUUT7_mw


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